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POEMS  A  XI )  SOXGS 


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HY 


ANDREW   WANLESS. 


SKCOND    K  I)  IT  ION, 

TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED  A  NUMKRR  OF  NRW  PIECKS  NEVEH  DI-FOI^f:  PUBLISHED 


•  •  • 


While  the  daisy  lieckj  the  lea, 
Scotia's  sangs  will   never  dee — 
Floating  down  time's  jilent  river, 
Time  and   they  will  dii"  togeth^r. 


V'KvJi, 


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DETROIT,    MICH. 
puansHEirav  a.  wanless,  ijj  jekfi:RjON  avenue. 

18  73. 


A  (7 


71958 


Enterea  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  ^J  Andrew 
WANLEts,  in  the  office  oi  the  Librarian  of"  Congress, 

at  Washington.  '. 


Printed  by  The  Daily  Post  Company,  Detroit,  Mich. 


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PREFACE  TO  THE  Fll^ST  EDITIOf(. 


HE  primary  design  in  the  composition  of  these 
""  Poems  and  Songs  *'  was  an  endea\or  to  hnk 
the  i)resent  with  the  past — to  recall  the  scenes 
of  our  early  years  to  bring  up,  in  imagination, 
the  braw  lads  and  the  bonnie  lasses  that  we  forgathered 
with  in  the  days  of  the  king  syne,  and  attempt  to  describe^ 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  wimpling  burns,  the 
gowany  braes,  the  bonnie  glens,  the  broomy  dells,  and 
the  heather-clad  mountains  of  our  native  land  :  the  land 
where  Wallace  and  Bruce  wielded  (ho  patriotic  sword, 
and  where  Ramsay,  Burns,  Scott,  annahill,  and  many 
more  sang  the  songs  of  love  and  liberty. 

The  secondary  object  was  to  lay  before  my  country- 
men and  the  American  people  some  specimens  of  the 
Scottish  vernacular.  At  the  present  time  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  a  number  of  poets  are  in  che  habit  of  losing 
themselves  in  the  clouds,  and  instead  of  writing  to  be 
understood,  one  would  naturally  imagine  that  they  try 
their  best  to  mystify  and  .befog  the  reader.  In  contra- 
distinction I  have  attempted  to  keep  as  near  the  earth  as 
possible,  and  endeavored  to  clothe  my  sentences  in  plain 
and  home-spun  attire.  Some  other  poetasters,  from  their 
lack   of  w'it,  no    doubt,   have  attempted    to   wx'wv^   out 


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bastard  and  weak  puerility  by  mangling,  distorting  and 
misspelling  the  Knglish  language.  These  authors  who 
thus  pamper  and  pander  to  the  vulgar  taste,  in  my  poor 
opinion  are  more  to  be  |)itied  than  despised. 

No  one  that  is  conversant  with  the  Scottish  language 
ran  deny  its  rich  beauty  and  its  adaptation  for  lyric  and 
descriptive  comjiosition.  If  I  have  failed  to  make  this 
volume  readable,  the  fault  cannot  be  attribu'cd  to  the 
language,  but  on  the  other  hand  the  demerit  must  be 
laid  at  the  door  of  the  author. 

A  few  of  the  "  Poems  and  Songs  "  first  appeared  in 
the  Scottish  American  J^ourfialy  Hamilton  Times,  Sarnia 
Obsen'er,  and  the  Detroit  Daily  Newspapers,  to  the 
resi)ective  editors  of  which  I  return  thanks  for  courtesies 
extended.  The  majority  of  the  pieces,  I  may  however 
state,  appear  in  this  collection  for  the  first  time. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


HK  success  that  attended  the  puhlicaiion  of  ilic 
first  edition  of  this  work,  has  induced  the  author 
to  issue  a  second  edition,  to  which  is  added  a 
number  of  "  Poems  and  Songs,''  never  l)efore  ])ul)Hshed. 
The  first  edition  was  more  favorably  rcN'iewed  by  the 
press  of  the  United  States,  C'anada  and  Scotland,  than 
the  author,  in  his  most  sanguine  moments,  ever 
anticipated ;  and  he  trusts  that  this  edition  will  also 
merit  the  favorable  criticism  of  the  j)ress  and  the  patron- 
age of  the  public. 

Detroit,  Mich.,  June   ii{73. 


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Jable  of  Pontents. 


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A  Sabbath  Morning  in  Scotland..  24 

A  Kittlin  Clatter }Z 

A  Pastoral 47 

A  Precious  Jewel 68 

A  Word  to  the  Canadian  Weevil.  71 

A  Weak  Man  and  a  Strong  Woman  157 

A  Reformation IV) 

A  Scotch  Sangster's  Comin' I41 

Aye  keep  your  Heart  Aboon 10 

Belle  Isle  aboon  Detroit 147 

Bonnie  Nell I5S 

Caledonian  Games  on  Belle  Isle..  4} 

Craigie  Castle 14^ 

Come,  Sweetheart,  come 159 

Detroit  is  the  Town  for  Me 149 

Ellen  Dear 171 

Folk  should  aye  be  equal  Yokit..  $z 

Her  Heart  wa:  aW  .viine  Own....  146 

Her  love  for  me  did  Wither 158 

Hohenwindsor 65 

Home  Recollections 12 

I  ance  had  a  lad 1 76 

I  Lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a' 168 

Jean  and  Donald 129 

Jeanie  Bell .• 1 50 

Jineral  O'Neil 151 

Kate  o'  Boontrce 161 

Lamentation  for  Mike  Gill 49 

Lammermoor 165 

Little  Nellie 157 

Mary 164 

My  Love,  O!  Come  to  Me 148 

Nan  o'  Lockermarus 87 

Our  Mither  Tongue 9 

Rob  Trotter's  Gimmer 57 

Scottish  Sangs ^8 

Tarn  and  Tib Sj 


i'AOK 

That's  but  Nat'ral 29 

The  Trysting  Nicht 167 

The  Rose  of  Springwells i6<; 

The  .Maid  of  Wayne 17c 

The  Flower  o'  Duntrnon 172 

The  Death  of  McGregor 17} 

The  Auld  Man's  Courtship 174 

The  Creelin' 16 

The  Dialogue  of  the  Breaks 59 

The  Wallace  Monument 6t 

The  Scott  Centenary f/t 

The  Cat  Aneath  the  Chair 77 

The  Poor  o'  the  Parish 105 

The  Second  Sight iii 

The  Wife  aid  the  Breeks 126 

The  Men  o'  the  .Merse 15} 

The  Banks  o'  the  Dye 154 

The  lang  Tailor  o'  Whitby 155 

The  Cow  avc  Chicago         156 

I'he  Courting  o'  the  Widow 162 

Tib's  Slighted  me  ye  ken 124 

To  John  A.  Bruce 117 

To  Dad  Brichan 108 

To  James  Walker io^> 

To  A.  H.  Wingfield (t% 

To  James  McKay 27 

Too  .Much  Liberty 71 

Turning  the  Key 20 

War  and  Peace }  i 

When  Nell  was  Aughtecn 17^ 

Willy  has  proved  false  to  mc.     ..  ift(> 

Who  Should  and  Who  Shouldn't..  !2i 

Who's  Comin'  ? n'xj 

Ye  Ballad  of  Jeanie  Johnston  ....  J4 

Proverbs 177 

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BY    THE    AITHOF; 


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POEMS. 


Our    M.ithef^  Tongue. 

Read  before  the  St.  Andrew^i  Society,  Detroit,  November  30,   1 870. 


\T'S  monie  a  day  since  first  we  left 

Auld  Scotland's  rugged  hills — 
Her  heath'ry  braes  and  gow'ny  glens, 

Her  bonnie  winding  rills. 
We  lo'ed  her  in  the  by-gane  time, 

When  life  and  hope  were  young, 
We  lo'e  her  still,  wi'  right  guid  will, 

And  glory  in  her  tongue  1 

Can  we  forget  the  summer  days 

Whan  we  got  leave  frae  schule, 
How  we  gade  birrin'  down  the  braes 

To  daidle  in  the  pool  ? 
Or  to  the  glen  we'd  slip  awa 

Where  hazel  clusters  hung. 
And  wake  the  echoes  o'  the  hills — 

Wi'  our  auld  mither  tongue. 

Can  we  forget  the  lonesome  kirk 
Where  gloomy  ivies  creep  ? 

Can  we  forget  the  auld  kirk  yard 
^      Where  our  forefather's  sleep  ? 

We'll  ne'er  forget  that  glorious  land, 
^       Where  Scott  and  Burns  sung — 

Their  sangs  are  printed  on  our  hearts 


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In  our  auld  mither  tongue. 


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AYE  KEEP  YOUR  HEART  ABOON. 


V 


Auld  Scotland  !  land  o'  mickle  fame  ! 

The  land  \vhere  Wallace  trod, 
The  land  where  heartfelt  praise  ascends 

Up  to  the  throne  of  God  ! 
Land  where  the  Martyrs  sleep  in  peace. 

Where  infant  freedom  sprung, 
Where  Knox  in  tones  of  thunder  spoke 

In  our  auld  mither  tongue  ! 

Now  Scotland  dinna  ve  be  blate 

'Mang  nations  crousely  craw. 
Your  callants  are  nae  donnert  sumphs, 

Your  lasses  bang  them  a'. 
The  glisks  o'  heaven  will  never  fade, 

That  hope  around  us  flung — 
When  first  we  breath'd  the  tale  o'  love 

In  our  auld  mither  tongue  ! 

O  !  let  us  ne'er  forget  our  hame, 

Auld  Scodand's  hills  and  cairns, 
And  let  us  a'  where'er  we  be. 

Aye  strive  "to  be  guid  bairns"  ! 
And  when  we  meet  wi'  want  or  age 

A-hirpling  owre  a  rung. 
We'll  tak'  their  part  and  cheer  their  heart 

Wi'  our  auld  mither  tongue. 


jiili 


•  ■  •- 


Aye   keep  youh.  Heart    Aboon. 


Respectfully  inscribed  to  A.  D.   Eraser^  Esq. 


H  !  monie  a  day  has  gane,  guidfolks, 
Since  first  this  warld  I  kent, 

\  And  folk  o'  a'  degrees  I've  seen 
Gie  wav  to  discontent ; 


AYE    KEEP    YOUR    HEART   ABOON. 


II 


') 


They  growl  at  this,  they  growl  at  that, 
Their  growlin's  never  doon, 

They  ne'er  will  learn  to  sing  wi'  me —    • 
"  Aye  keep  your  heart  aboon." 

Aye  keep  your  hearts  aboon,  guidfolks. 

Whatever  may  befa', 
O !  ne'er  forget  the  gowden  words — 

"Tine  heart  and  ye  tine  a'." 
The  wimplin'  bums,  the  bonnie  birds, 

A'  nature  sings  the  tune. 
And  tells  the  thankless  race  o'  man 

To  keep  their  hearts  aboon. 

I  no  deny  that  we,  guidfolks, 

Ha'e  a'  our  load  o'  care. 
And  e'en  at  times  been  on  the  brink 

O'  even-doon  despair ; 
But  we  should  mind  that  there  was  a;ie 

Who  bore  the  cross  and  croon, 
Who  taught  us  a'  to  live  in  hope. 

And  trust  in  heaven  aboon. 

Aye  keep  your  hearts  aboon,  guidfolks. 

And  dinna  be  down  cast, 
There  comes  a  blink  o'  sunshine  aye 

When  angry  winds  blaw  past. 
Tis  best  to  turn  our  back  on  care. 

For  he's  a  cauldriff  loon, 
But  Leddy  Hope  says  to  us  a' 

"  Aye  keep  your  hearts  aboon." 

Dame  Nature  ne'er  design'd,  guidfolks. 
When  first  She  ga'e  us  breath, 

That  we  should  stand  in  mortal  fear 
O'  that  grim  Carl  Death, 


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HOME   RECOLLECTIONS. 


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She  ga'e  us  Hope  and  sister  Joy, 

To  tend  us  late  and  soon, 
Sae  let  us  strive  to  be  content, 

And  keep  our  hearts  aboon. 

Distress  and  grief  will  come,  guidfolks. 

But  Pity  aye  draws  near. 
And  Hope  and  Joy  will  watch  and  wait 

To  wipe  the  waefu'  tear ; 
When  winter's  gane  the  spring  will  come, 

And  syne  the  flow'rs  o'  June, 
The  wells  o'  Hope  they  ne'er  rin  dry, 

Sae  keep  your  hearts  aboon. 

The  days  and  years  slip  by,  guidfolks, 

And  mingle  with  the  past. 
And  Reason  tells  us,  ev'ry  breath 

Draws  nearer  to  the  last, 
And  when  Death  comes,  as  sure  he  will, 

Be  comin'  late  or  soon. 
May  Faith  and  Hope  attendant  wait 

To  waft  our  souls  aboon. 


•  •  • 


^ 


OME  Recollections. 


Inscribed  to  D.  Bethune  Duffield^  Esq. 


Y  Muse !  Come  flit  with  me  an  hour. 
To  gow'ny  braes  and  sylvan  dells ; 
Come  fancy,  dwell  in  Lammermoor — 
Amang  the  bonnie  heather-bells. 

Let  me  forget  the  weary  years. 

The  hardships  and  the  ills  that  grieve  me, 
Let  me  forget  the  bygone  tears. 

Since  I,  in  sorrow,  laith  did  leave  thee ! 


HOME    RECOLLECTIONS. 


Your  hills  in  lovely  grandeur  vie, 

Your  crystal  streamlets  rin  sae  clear, 

Still  let  me  trace  the  winding  Dye, 
And  muse  on  hame  and  Scotia  dear. 

With  eager  step  climb  Redpath  hill, 
With  rapture  scan  the  rural  shade. 

And  see  the  cot  beside  the  rill. 

Where  first  my  infant  footsteps  stray'd. 

I  see  oiir  house,  our  auld,  auld  hame. 
My  brothers,  sisters  and  the  lave, 

I  see  a  form  I  scarce  can  name. 

Who  now  lies  mould'ring  in  the  grave. 

The  falt'ring  tongue  of  woe  is  weak. 
To  tell  the  soul's  despairing  gloom. 

The  silent  tears  alone  can  speak 

The  grief  that's  cradled  in  the  tomb. 

My  Mother !  thou  wert  kind  to  me. 

Although  the  grave  did  early  get  thee, 

The  tear  still  rises  in  mine  e'e. 

My  Mother !  I  will  ne'er  forget  thee ! 

And  there  my  other  parent  lies. 

Set  free  from  care  and  carking  strife — 

An  honest  man,  sedate  and  wise. 
As  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life. 

There  stands  the  school — the  pathway  gate. 
Where  aft  my  truant  feet  did  climb, 

Lur'd  by  the  wand  of  luckless  fate. 
To  weave  unseen  the  rustic  rhyme. 

To  wander  by  the  murm'ring  stream, 
To  pull  the  roses  fresh  and  fair. 

And  learn  to  dream  life's  idle  dream. 
And  build  the  castle  in  the  air. 


13 


k'OI 


-  yi 


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4ii 


14 


HOME    RECOLLECTIONS. 


v^ 


Ah  me  !  upon  yon  grassy  glade, 

Where  high  the  clust'ring  rowans  hung, 

How  aft  Fve  sat  beneath  the  shade. 
To  list  the  notes  the  blackbird  sung  ! 

The  golden  cloud,  the  sunny  beam, 
Have  melted  into  gloamin'  grey  ; 

My  playmates — lost  upon  life's  stream — 
E'en  like  a  wave  have  passed  away ! 

Down  in  the  glen  the  churchyard  lies, 
The  hazel  bank  the  streamlet  laves. 

Yon  aged  willow  soughs  and  sighs. 
And  weeps  upon  the  lowly  graves. 

In  fancy  still  I  fondly  stray, 

And  tread  the  path  my  fathers  trod. 
Where  thorns  and  briars  half  hide  the  way 

That  leads  up  to  the  house  of  God. 

My  mem'ry  conjures  up  the  look. 

The  rev'rend  Pastor's  locks  so  grey, 

I  still  can  see  him  ope  the  book. 

And  hear  the  words  :  "  Come,  let  us  pray." 

A  stillness  reigns  in  every  aisle, 

A  gloomy  and  a  holy  calm — 
Devotion  hovers  round  the  while, 

And  wafts  to  heaven  the  sacred  Psalm. 

With  quiv'ring  lip  and  tearful  cheek 

The  Pastor  speaks  of  God  and  love ;   • 

Through  Christ,  the  lowly  and  the  meek. 
He  points  the  way  to  heaven  above. 

He  tells  of  earth  and  earthly  woe. 

Of  heaven  and  heaven's  eternal  day. 
Where  we  shall  God,  our  Father,  know — 
,    And  all  our  tears  be  washed  away  ! 


.n.  .V 


HOME    RECOLLECTIONS. 


15 


i 


The  young  and  old  attentive  sit, 

With  watchful  eye  and  list'ning  ear, 

While  o'er  their  face  alternate  flit — 
A  heavenly  hope,  an  earthly  fear. 

The  vile  he  warns  to  think,  to  stop — 
The  path  to  heaven  is  still  the  best ; 

To  drooping  hearts  he  counsels  hope, 
To  weary  souls  he  speaks  of  rest. 

The  sunbeams  glimmer  through  the  trees, 
And  dance  above  the  solemn  throng. 

While  borne  upon  the  gentle  breeze 
To  heaven  ascends  the  heartfelt  song. 

O,  Scotland  !  may  the  God  of  life 

Forever  shower  his  blessings  on  thee  ! 

O  !  may  the  seeds  of  hate  and  strife, 
Be  sown  for  never  more  upon  thee  ! 

And  may  thy  sons  be  ever  found 

An  honor  to  the  human  race, 
May  God  in  his  eternal  round 

From  thee  and  thine  ne'er  hide  his  face ! 

The  bard  nursed  in  the  lap  of  care, 

Oppressed  with  grief  and  tangled  fate — 

His  fleeting  moments  cry  "prepare  !" 
Time  never  shuts  the  church  yard  gate. 

O'!  may  we  never,  ne'er  forget 
The  lessons  of  our  early  years  ; 

Examples  that  our  parents  set, 

Their  admonitions  and  their  tears. 

And  when  death's  curtain  o'er  us  falls, 
May  heaven  dispel  the  clouds  of  night, 

O  !  may  we  hear  the  voice  that  calls  : 

"  Come,  welcome  to  the  realms  of  light." 


■^  \ ; 

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■    '«  .  .• 

■  ■■•♦ 

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1    Pww 


A 


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i6 


THE   CREELIN'. 


The    Ci^eelin', 


[It  was  a  custom,  in  certain  districts  of  Scotland,  from  time  imme- 
morial, to  "  creel  **  the  bridegroom,  /.  «.,  to  tie  a  creel  upon  his  back, 
and  to  fill  it  as  full  of  stones  as  the  "  heapit  measure  "  would  allow, 
and  then  to  march  the  young  guidman,  amidst  roars  of  laughter,  before 
the  doors  of  the  clachan.  When  the  bridegroom  was  beginning  to 
totter  beneath  the  burden,  and  as  the  saying  is,  "upon  his  last  legs/*  the 
bride  would  rush  out  of  the  house,  and  with  a  gullie  knife  cut  the 
strings,  and  make  basket  and  stones  play  birr  upon  the  ground.  This 
part  of  the  business  was  usually  followed  with  cheers  as  loud  as  the 
lungs  of  the  on-lookers  would  permit.  I  may  also  add,  that  no  mar- 
riage was  considered  complete  till  the  custom  above  described  had  taken 
place.] 


UR  Andrew  was  a  canty  lad, 
As  dink  a  lad  as  e'er  ye  saw, 
But  now  he  is  baith  dowff  and  sad, 
Since  Luc/s  stown  his  heart  awa'. 

On  summer  nights  when  dargs  were  done, 
Upon  the  green  he'd  dance  wi'  glee, 

But  a'  the  lasses  he  wad  shun. 

Though  hard  they  tried  to  catch  his  e'e. 

But  Lucy,  she  cam'  ower  the  hill, 

And  Andrew's  heart  gaed  kempin'  sair. 

For  she  had  cheeks  sae  rosy  red, 
And  oh  !  sae  gowden  was  her  hair. 

Her  e'en  did  glint  sae  bonnie  blue, 
Her  neck  was  like  the  driven  snow. 

She  had  a  heart  baith  kind  and  true. 
As  pure  as  earth  can  ever  know. 


.'•>.  "i 


THE   CREELIN'. 


17 


He  met  her  in  her  father's  ha', 

He  watched  the  glances  o'  her  e'e, 

And  aye  the  mair  o'  her  he  saw, 
The  mair  o'  her  he  wished  to  see. 

And  now  he  gangs  just  like  a  ghaist, 
'Mang  dowie  glens  he  aften  strays ; 

He  dems  on  the  moorland  waste. 
And  cries  on  death  to  end  his  days. 

His  coggie  clean  he  canna  scart. 

He  scunners  at  his  very  kail ; 
At  mirkest  hour  he'll  eerie  start, 

And  wake  the  echoes  wi'  his  wail. 

His  hair  he  never  kames  ava. 

It's  kink'd  and  matted  round  his  croon, 
Belyve,  he'll  tak'  his  pipe  and  blaw. 

And  gape  and  glower  up  at  the  moon. 

He  wears  nae  ribbon  at  his  knee, 
And  when  he  gangs  to  kirk  or  mill, 

He  looks  as  sad  as  sad  can  be. 
And  a'  for  love  o'  Lucy  Hill. 

But  Lucy  ken'd,  in  spite  o'  fate, 
That  Andrew  lo'ed  her  unco  weel. 

Now  they  are  wed,  though  unco  blate — 
She  frae  his  back  did  cut  the  creel. 

She  cut  the  strings  !  She  whang'd  them  through  I 
And  on  the  ground  the  creel  pla/d  birr. 

Then  auld  and  young  cried  "  Hip-harroo  !  " 
While  some  wi'  gigglin  couldna  stir. 

Auld  Aunty  Kirsty  beck'd  and  laugh'd, 
Ye  might  hae  tied  her  wi'  a  strae, 

Jean  Tait,  poor  woman,  lap  like  daft. 

Syne  coup'd,  and  tumbled  down  the  brae  ! 


i\ 


"fpsi 


41 

,■■:  >'n 

..VI. 
t     * 


'.^. 


•"1  ' 


i8 


THE    CREELIN'. 


I  I 


h     • 


A  bonnie  lass  was  Jessie  Dunn, 

She  cuist  at  Jock  a  'tatie  peelin', 
Her  very  curls  danced  wi'  fun — 

As  she  cried  :  ''Jock,  when  is  your  creelin?" 

Then  Jockie  cried  :  "  When  ye  consent ! " 

To  kiss  his  Jessie  off  he  ran. 
But  like  a  deer  awa  she  went, 

Sayin' :  "Jockie,  catch  me  if  ye  can." 

Now  Andrew  took  his  Lucy's  hand. 
And  then  they  tried  to  slip  away. 

But  auld  John  Elder  cried  out  "  stand  ! 
For  I've  a  word  or  twa  to  say." 

John  drew  a  breath,  syne  said  **  my  lass 

Ye're  a  rail  purpose  lookin'  wife, 
I  mark'd  true  smeddum  in  your  face 
When  ye  cam'  bleezing  wi'  the  knife. 

"  I  mind  fu'  weel  when  I  was  creel'd. 
My  wife  was  just  a  muleish  molly, 

She  took  the  dorts,  syne  roar'd  and  squeel'd, 
And  wadna  goam  the  very  gully. 

"  'Afore  the  doors  wi'  my  big  lade 

I  waggel'd  like  a  willow  wand. 
Yet  still  the  dour  camstery  jade. 

Wad  neither  left  her  fit  or  hand  ! 

**  At  length  my  wind  and  strength  ga'e  out 

And  down  I  fell  wi'  sic  a  ris'le, 
Without  a  shadow  o'  a  doubt 

I  thought  I'd  burstit  a  blood  vessel  ! 

"  The  creel-rope  hankit  round  my  throat, 
I  thought  my  back  had  snap'd  asunder. 

How  lang  I  lay  I've  e'en  forgot. 

For  that  transpired  in  Eighteen  hunder*. 


THE   CREELIN  . 


'9 


"  Tarn  Blacklock  had  a  bang  guidwife, 

She  cock'd  her  lug  and  heard  my  granes, 

She  cut  the  rope  and  saved  my  life, 

Syne  heezed  me  up  frae  'mang  the  stanes. 

**  I  ga'e  a  glow'r  at  Draigle-tail, 

Her  conduct  sairly  did  deceive  me, 

That  very  night  she  took  leg-bail. 
Her  emigration  didna  grieve  me. 

*'Now  Lucy  tak'  advice  frae  me, 

Ye'll  find  it  aye  the  wisest  plan, 
Until  the  minit  that  ye  dee 

Aye  strive  to  please  your  ain  guidman." 

Now  Tam  Tod  said  :  "  John,  I've  a  doubt, 
That  tongue  o'  yours  wad  thole  a  teather, 

See,  man  !  the  bride's  as  white's  a  cloot 

And  still  ye'll  deave  her  wi'  your  blether ! " 

Then  Lucy  led  her  Andrew  in. 

She  sneck'd  the  door  wi'  tentie  care, 

She  kissed  the  spot  aboon  his  chin, 
Guidsakes  !  they  were  a  couth  ie  pair. 

And  thus  he  spoke  :  "  O  !  Lucy  dear, 
I'm  glad  that  creel  is  afif  my  back  ; '' 

Then  Lucy  shed  a  thankfu'  tear, 

Syne  Andrew  gave  her  smack  for  smack. 

Harken,  ye  wives,  'tween  you  and  me, 
In  weel  waled  words  I  speak  ye  fair, 

Wi'  your  guidman  ne'er  disagree, 
But  strive  to  ease  his  load  o'  care  ! 

Ne'er  thraw  the  mouth,  and  jeer  and  jaw, 
And  stamp  your  feet  an'  rair  an'  shore  him. 

That  is  the  daftest  plan  o'  a'. 

Your  smiles  wad  soon  "come  Paddy  o'er  him." 


•*  (il 


••    .  •  '1 


V 


'i-;it 


20 


TURNING   THE   KEY. 


fill 

In! 


And  you,  ye  lasses,  loud  I  pray. 

That  goodness  still  may  ever  guide  ye, 

Frae  good  advisement  never  stray. 
And  then  nae  ill  can  e'er  betide  ye. 

Auld  maids  !  ye're  aiblins  blest  'bune  a'. 
Your  man  will  never  catch  a  creelin', 

The  men,  ye  ken,  are  just  a  staw. 

They're  sae  devoid  o'  sense  and  feelin'. 

And  last  to  a'  the  human  race 

(I'm  strivin'  sair  to  end  this  letter), 

I  fondly  trust,  wi'  help  o'  grace. 

Instead  o'  worse,  we'll  aye  grow  better. 

How  happy  Andrew's  wi'  his  wife. 
She  lo'es  him  extraordinar'  weel, 

She  still  preserves  the  gully  knife. 

But  Andrew  burnt  the  muckle  creel ! 


♦  •» 


-* 


Turning  the   Key. 

HE  Shearers  had  got.through  the  shearin'. 
The  Autumn  to  an  end  was  wearin'; 
The  kye  that  browsed  'mang  moors  and  mosses, 
Gade  hame  to  sleep  in  byres  and  houses. 

The  sun  had  set,  the  stars  were  blinking. 
At  his  fire-side  Tam  Swan  sat  winking, 
He  ga'e  a  gaunt,  and  then  quo'  he, 
"  Jenny !  Guidwife,  gae  turn  the  key, 
Right  off  to  bed  I  e'en  maun  creep, 
For  I  am  fairly  daised  wi'  sleep." 
Sae  cross  the  floor  auld  Tammie  shankit. 
And  soon  he  crawled  aneath  the  blankit; 
The  Guidwife  scoured  baith  pat  and  pan. 
Syne  cuddled  in  wi'  her  Guidman  ! 


.''H^ 


TURNING  THE   KEY. 


at 


A  daughter  heaven  had  sent  this  pair — 
A  strapping  queen,  baith  fresh  and  fair, 
This  bonnie  lassie's  name  was  Nell — 
Her  sweetheart's  name  was  Willy  Bell ; 
The  parents  left  Nell  in  the  nook, 
A-glowerin'  o'er  an  auld  sang  book ; 
She  heard  her  minnie  lock  the  door — 
She  heard  her  father  gi'e  a  snore ; 
Then  frae  her  seat  the  lassie  loupit, 
By  some  mischance  the  candle  coupit, 
She  banged  it  up  to  blaw  it  in, 
And  near-hand  burnt  her  bonnie  chin  I 
She  heard  the  garden-gate  play  jee. 
She  made  the  candle-doup  play  flee, 
Syne  slippit  aff  and  turned  the  key — 
Then  out  she  sprang  as  light's  a  filly. 
To  ha'e  a  courting  'bout  wi'  Willy. 

How  heedlessly  the  moment's  fly, 
When  lovers  heave  the  heartfelt  sigh — 
They  see  nae  bogles  creeping  by  1 

Sleep  on  the  aged  couple  centered. 
When  in  the  door  a  Kyloe  ventur'd. 
It  snuffed  awhile  about  the  entry, 
And  syne  it  edged  up  to  the  pantry. 
But,  finding  neither  com  nor  clover. 
The  stupid  beast  began  to  dover. 
Then  down  it  crap  upon  the  floorin' 
Near  hand  where  Tammie  led  "the  snorin', 
'Gainst  the  bed-post  it  gave  a  ristle, 
Which  soon  gar'd  Jenny  fyke  and  fistle — 
And  listen  with  a  tentie  ear. 
In  case  auld  Satan  should  appear. 
As  thus  she  lay  as  still's  a  lammie. 
Fast  by  the  side  o'  sleeping  Tammie ; 
She  heard  a  kind  o'  unkent  breathin' — 
Soon  terror  to  her  heart  was  cleavin*; 
She  dunches  Tarn — she  says,  "Oh  waukin', 
Wi'  dread  my  very  heart  is  quakin', 


,f -55/  % 

,  >^ 


*V   II 


»a 


TURNING  THE   KEY. 


As  sure's  I  live,  I  hear  a  snivel 
As  if  it  cam'  fresh  frae  the  deevil  I " 
Yet  Tammie  lay  devoid  o'  thought, 
Though  fear  nailed  Jenny  to  the  spot  ; 
At  length  he  muttered  "  tuts,  lie  still, 
It's  naething  but  our  daughter  Nell, 
Wha's  dished  wi'  sleep  and  breathing  sair. 
Or  aiblins  fashed  wi'  the  night-mare." 
He  gave  a  grunt  syne  round  did  creep, 
Auld  Tammie  soon  was  fast  asleep. 

When  winds  blaw  fair  upon  life's  ocean. 
Pride  in  our  hearts  aft  drowns  devotion. 
When  storms  arise  we  cry  to  heaven. 
And  pant  and  pray  to  be  forgiven  I 
Now  Jenny  is  my  illustration — 
Losh  !  how  she  groaned  on  this  occasion  I 
Her  flaff  ring  pulse  at  times  stood  still. 
At  times  it  yerkit  like  a  mill, 
Fear  fastened  on  her  very  eye — 
Her  every  pore  weep'd  agony  ! 
There  is  a  limit  to  endurance, 
Her  inward  prayers  brought  no  assurance ; 
She  drew  a  breath  !  She  gave  a  bellow 
That  woke  the  very  sleeping  Kyloe ; 
Whiff!  Tammie  out  the  bed  played  whack. 
And  got  a-stride  the  Kyloe's  back. 
He  sat  and  groaned  as  if  on  thorns, 
Syne  grappled  hard  a  pair  o'  horns  I 
The  Kyloe  sprang — dashed  to  the  door, 
The  brute  re-echoed  Tammie's  roar. 
Fear  at  ilk  hair  did  rive  and  rug, 
Despair  did  whistle  in  his  lug, 
Sic  dismal  dread  was  never  ken'd — 
His  very  night-cap  stood  on  end ! 
As  Tammie  held  by  horn  and  pow 
He  yelled — "  The  deevil's  got  me  now  ! " 
While  Jenny  in  her  bed  did  lie 
Preparing  for  eternity ! 


TURNING  THE   K£Y. 


M 


Out  through  the  yard  the  beastie  loupit, 
It  funked  and  plunged  and  Tammie  coupit ; 
As  Nell  and  Will  saw  something  comin', 
Out  ower  the  dyke  they  baith  gadf  bummin', 
Then  headlong  scoured  across  the  bent, 
Their  furious  shrieks  i!ie  welkin  rent, 
For,  past  the  twa  the  brute  gade  drivin'— 
As  if  its  very  hide  was  rivin'. 
Poor  Willy  sair  his  croon  did  claw. 
While  Nelly  fairly  swoon'd  awa  ! 
When  time  had  brought  them  to  their  senses, 
Hamcward  they  gade  wi'  few  pretenses ; 
They  keekit  ower  the  garden  wa', 
Hech  me  !  an  unco  sight  they  saw, 
There  Tammie  lay  besmeared  wi'  glaur, 
And  glow'rin'  at  the  evening  star ! 
Nellie  instinctive  raised  his  head. 
At  first,  she  thought  that  he  was  dead. 
Yet  though  his  bones  were  cloured  and  bloody. 
The  breath  had  not  gone  out  his  body ; 
They  oxtered  him  into  the  hallan, 
Then  Jenny  frae  her  bed  cam'  squallin', 
Tani  eyed  her  hard,  then  gave  a  groan, 
Syne  whisp'ring  speered  "If  Nick  was  gone ?  " 

Next  morn  they  to  the  Priest  did  trot — 
They  told  him  what  a  glifF  they'd  got. 
The  Priest  in  meditation  sicker, 
Speered  "if  the  brute  did  gie  a  nicker?" 
"Na,  na,"  quo'  Tam,  "  it  gae  a  rout ; " 
The  Priest  then  cried,  **  I've  found  it  out — 
Your  deil  was  nothing  but  a  nowte." 
"A  nowte?"  quo'  Tam,  "say  that  again," 
For  light  cam'  into  Tammie's  brain ; 
"  Ye're  right  1 "  he  cried,  "  'tween  me  and  you, 
It  must  hae  been  our  Kyloe-coo." 
When  Willy  spoke  a  word  to  Nell, 
"  I'll  take  the  blame,"  she  cried,  "  mysel' 


...'S 


m 


fS  if 


^^ 


24 


A   SABBATH   MORNING   IN    SCOTLAND. 


For,  whan  my  jo'  cam'  courtin'  me, 
I  e'en  forgot  to  turn  the  key." 
Quo'  Will,  "  my  dear,  to  end  the  matter. 
The  sooner  that  we're  wed  the  better." 
Sweet  Nellie  blushed  and  syne  consented. 
Then  hame  they  a'  gade  weel  contented ; 
And  aye  at  night,  'tween  you  and  me, 
Nell  ne'er  forgot  to  turn  the  key. 


•  •  m 


h  Sabbath  Morning  in   Scotland. 


Interibed  to  the  Rev.  yohn  yenningt^  D.  D.,  Toronto. 


\ 


M 
111 


m 


HE  morning  sun  glints  up  ayont  the  hill; 
The  misty  clouds  of  morn  have  fled  away, 
Calm  is  the  pool,  the  sky  serene  and  still. 
The  lark,  exultant,  chants  his  early  lay. 
The  joyftil  birds  sing  blythe  upon  the  sprey, 
The  wings  of  peace  are  spread  o'er  hill  and  lea, 
This  is  the  sacred,  holy  Sabbath  day. 
From  toil,  this  mom,  the  husbandman  is  free, 
From  bHssful  rest  he  wakes,  to  bow  to  God  the  knee. 

His  little  bairnies  start  up  one  by  one. 
They  early  learn  to  know  the  day  of  rest ; 
Wee  Maggie  asks  if  frock  or  bonnet's  done  ? 
They  clamor  to  put  on  their  Sunday's  best ; 
The  guidwife  clasps  her  infant  to  her  breast. 
Warns  and  commands  the  noisy  to  behave ; 
Wee  Will  tries  on  his  new-made  breeks  and  vest, 
He  struts  about  the  wonder  o'  the  lave  : 
'Gainst  pride,  the  guidman  speaks,  wi'  looks  demure  and 
grave. 


A  SABBATH  MORNING   IN   SCOTLAND. 


25 


He  fondly  takes  his  Willy  by  the  hand, 
And  aff  they  gang  to  dander  round  aboot, 
To  see,  perhaps,  if  dyke  or  palling  stand, 
Or  if  the  wheat  or  oats  begin  to  shoot ; 
.    The  kye  frae  foggage  field  ha'e  broken  out, 
His  collie  dog  soon  answers  to  his  ca'; 
He  pulls  a  turnip  and  cuts  off  the  root. 
Wee  Willy  kens  the  way  to  wring  the  shaw, 
He  sits  and  glow'rs  and  eats  while  daddie  mends  the  flaw. 

Adown  the  bank  they  ca'  the  sheep  and  kye 
To  where  the  bumie  laves  out  owre  the  rocks ; 
Syne  hameward  'cross  the  bonnie  brig  o'  Dye, 
Where  weeping  willows  wave  their  silv'ry  locks. 
High  on  the  tree  the  raven  hoarsely  croaks, 
The  lintie  sings  among  the  heath'ry  braes  ; 
The  herds  ha'e  turned  and  gathered  in  their  flocks — 
Baith  hind  and  herd  respect  the  day  o'  days — 
From  lowly  shiel  and  cot  ascends  the  song  of  praise. 

At  hame,  our  guidwife  lights  the  kitchen  fire, 
And  soon  the  kettle's  hissing  on  the  grate, 
The  cow's  been  milked  and  turned  frae  the  byre. 
Now  milk  and  porridge  fill  baith  bowl  and  plate. 
The  chairs  are  set — the  bairns  wi'  look  sedate. 
Afore  the  porridge  cool  wad  fain  begin ; 
The  grace  is  said — they  now  nae  langer  wait ; 
The  guidwife  cries,  ''  it  is  a  perfect  sin 
To  see  the  milk  and  porridge  down  Will's  apron  rin  1 " 

The  horn  spoons,  at  length,  aside  are  laid, 
Now  to  the  door  the  bairns  fain  wad  steal, 
To  gang  thereout  the  boldest  is  afraid — 
Their  questions  they  maun  learn  and  answer  weal : 
The  auld  kirk  bell  sets  up  a  solemn  peal, 
The  cry  is  heard,  "  Auld  John  is  at  the  tow  I  " 
Around  the  house  wi'  bairns  at  her  heel — 
The  guidwife's  wits  and  hands  are  eident  now, 
She  washes  rosy  face,  and  kames  the  curly  pow. 


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A   SABBATH   MORNING   IN   SCOTLAND. 


Their  bonnie  Jessie,  unco  shy  and  blate, 
Comes  ben  the  house  dress'd  wi'  a  braw  new  goon, 
The  guidman  says,  "  'twad  e'en  tak'  an  estate. 
To  keep  ye  a'  in  meat  and  claes  and  shoon." 
The  guidwife  cries,  "  come  hurry,  ye'U  be  late  I 
Sic  moping  bairns  Tm  sure  I  never  saw, 
See  !  there's  your  pennies  for  the  poor  folk's  plate" — 
The  Book  o'  Books  she  hands  to  grit  and  sma' ; 
Fain  is  her  heart  to  see  them  look  sae  weal  and  braw. 

Now  doAMi  the  garden  walk  sweet  Jessie  goes — 
She  trips  sae  lightly  o'er  the  grassy  knoll. 
The  scented  spearmint  pulls  and  budding  rose. 
She  twines  them  baith  in  Willie's  button-hole. 
The  clinking  bell  at  last  has  ceased  to  toll. 
They  hurry  aff  and  gain  the  kirk-yard  road  : 
See  !  up  the  brae  yon  poor  auld  bodies  toil 
Oppressed  wi'  age  and  care — a  weary  load — 
And  now,  baith  auld  and  young  have  reached  the  house 
of  God. 

Land  of  my  fathers — of  the  brave  and  free ! 
Land  where  the  God  of  heaven  is  ador'd  ! 
Land  where  the  patriots  humbly  bow'd  the  knee — 
Then  rose  to  wave  the  Standard  of  the  Lord  1 
My  heart,  O  Scotland  I  from  its  inmost  chord, 
With  kindly  wishes  beats  for  thee  and  thine ;  j 
O  !  may  thy  bams  with  plenty  aye  be  stor'd. 
And  freedom's  sun  forever  on  thee  shine — 
Still  may  your  "shield"  be  Christ,  your  "buckler"  God 
divine  1 


TO   JAMES   MCKAY,    ESQ. 


27 


r' 


To   James    McKat,   Et;q^,    pETROiT. 


Sir— 


Sarnioj   Ont.y  August  18,   1 87 1, 

[his  evening  at  the  gloamin'  grey, 
I  gat  your  letter,  James  McKay, 
And  glad  was  I  to  hear  ye  say — 

And  proud  to  know  it,  — 
That  ye're  a' 'in  the  ordinar'  way 
About  Detroit. 

Whan  next  that  ye  take  up  the  pen. 
There's  ae  thing  I  would  like  to  ken, 
If  ye  ha'e  won  that  bonnie  hen — 

That  lassie  braw. 
To  guide  the  but  and  grace  the  ben 

In  your  bit  ha'. 

I  mind  it  weel — 'fore  I  was  wed, 
An  unco  weary  life  I  led. 
Groaning  and  giming  on  my  bed, 

Wi'  lonesome  moan ; 
Sae  soon's  I  to  the  altar  sped. 

Whiff !  Care  was  gone  ! 

Afore,  rd  wander  'bout  the  braes, 
A'  nature  then  seemed  sour  as  slaes. 
Then  down  I'd  sit  as  in  a  maze. 

Aside  the  bum. 
And  on  the  winding  waters  gaze, 

And  sigh  and  mourn  ! 


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TO  JAMES  MCKAY,   ESQ. 


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I'd  watch  a'  nature  filled  wi'  glee — 
The  lammies  sporting  on  the  lea. 
The  birdies  whistling  on  the  tree, 

Their  tender  strain ; 
I  didna  ken,  'tween  you  and  me, 

What  gar'd  me  grane ! 

Ae  night  I  warsried  'mang  the  ferns. 
And  tossed  amang  the  whins  and  birns, 
And  tald  my  woes  e'en  to  the  stems, 

Wi'  gruesome  croaks, 
That  scared  to  death  the  lang  leg'd  herons 

Amang  the  rocks ! 

I  growled  against  my  low  estate, 

I  envied  sair  the  rich  and  great, 

Till  Nature  cried :  "  Man,  get  a  mate, 

And  a  bit  housie." 
Sae  faith  !  ae  night  I  up  the  gate. 

And  spak'  for  Lucy ! 

Hope's  tender  bud  began  to  grow. 
The  light  o'  love  began  to  lowe, 
Losh,  Jemmy  !  if  ye  saw  me  now 

Midst  bliss  supreme ! 
Stand  clear!  five  bairns  I  ha'e  in  tow 

Upon  life's  stream. 

I'm  getting  unco  auld  and  stiff, 
And  glow'ring  ower  life's  dreary  cliff ; 
'Twill  no  be  lang  or  I  play  whiff, 

And  close  my  e'en, 
And  sail  awa  in  death's  dark  skiff 

To  the  unseen. 

Yet  still  I  needna  grunt  and  grane, 
I'm  no  just  in  the  warld  alane, 
I've  wife  and  bairns  to  ca'  my  ain — 

And  when  I  dee 
Nae  stranger  cauld  wi'  heart  o'  stane 

Will  close  my  e'e ! 


that's  but  nat'ral. 


^1 


29 


Now,  Jemmy !  tak'  ye  tent,  my  man, 
And  try  the  matrimonial  plan ; 
Remember  !  life  is  but  a  span  ; 

I  speak  ye  fair — 
Just  buckle  hard  and  fast  to  Nan 

For  evermair ! 

Wi'  a'  your  might  tak'  my  example, 

Upon  your  "whys"  and  "wherefores"  trample, 

Just  get  a  wife  and  raise  a  sample 

O'  young  McKays ; 
They'll  be,  nae  doubt,  a  comfort  ample 

In  your  auld  days. 

Remember  me,  then,  to  your  Nan, 
And  kind  regards  to  Bannerman, 
And  tell  the  "Major"  'bout  the  plan 

That  he  maun  mak'. 
Should  death  no  flash  in  my  bread-pan 

I'll  soon  be  back. 


^/     THAT'S    BUT    NaT'RAL. 

Inscribed  to  Duncan  Campbtlly  Esj.,  a  natural  born  Pott. 

'<Wcel,  Jenny,"  said  the  Rev.  Walter  Dunlap  to  the  bride,  <'do 
ye  like  Jock?**  "Yei,  Sirt"  replied  Jenny,  "I  like  Jock  rale 
weel."  The  reverend  gentleman  smiled  in  a  quiet  way,  and  then 
said,  "that*s  but  nat'ral  Jenny,  ma  woman.** 


||HE  spring  had  brought  out  the  green  leaf  on  the  trees, 
And  the  flow'rs  were  unfalding  their  sweets  to  the  bees, 
When  Jock  says  to  Jenny,  "  come,  Jenny,  agree, 
And  just  say  the  bit  word  that  ye'll  marry  me." 
She  held  down  her  head  like  a  lily  sae  meek. 
And  the  blush  o'  the  rose  fled  away  frae  her  cheek, 


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And  she  said,  "  gang  awa,  man !  your  head's  in  a  creel." 
She  didna  let  on  that  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 

Aye !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 

O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 
But  she  didna  let  on  that  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 

Now  Jock  says,  "  Oh,  Jenny,  for  a  twalmonth  and  mair, 
Ye  hae  kept  me  just  hanging  'tween  hope  and  despair. 
But,  Oh  !  Jenny,  last  night  something  whisper'd  to  me — 
That  I'd  better  lie  down  at  the  dyke  side  and  dee." 
To  keep  Jock  in  life,  she  gave  in  to  be  tied. 
And  soon  they  were  book'd,  and  three  times  they  were 

cried; 
Love  danced  in  Jock's  heart,  and  hope  joined  the  reel ; 
He  was  sure  that  his  Jenny  did  like  him  rale  weel. 

Aye !  she  liked  him  rale  weel,  ' 

O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 
But  she  never  let  on  that  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 

When  the  wedding  day  cam',  to  the  manse  they  did  stap. 
At  the  door  they  gat  welcome  frae  Mr.  Dunlap, 
Wha  chained  them  to  love's  matrimonial  stake ; 
Syne  they  a'  took  a  dram  and  a  mouthfu'  o'  cake, 
Then  the  minister  said,  "Jock,  be  kind  to  your  Jenny, 
Nae  langer  she's  tied  to  the  string  o'  her  Minnie ; 
Noo,  Jenny,  will  ye  aye  be  couthie  and  leal  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Sir,"  simper'd  she,  "  for  I  like  him  rale  weel." 

Aye !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 

O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel ; 
**  That's  but  nat'ral,"  he  answered,   "  to  Hke  him  rale 
weel." 


Shoutii 


Thetyi 
And  th( 
And  th( 
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The  pen 
Ye  wind 
And  Go» 


WAR   AND   PEACE. 


3X 


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AND  Peace. 


[hen  the  Lion  of  England  rushed  north  from  his 
lair, 
The  welkin  re-echoed,  "  touch  me  if  ye  dare !  " 
Then  shoulder  to  shoulder  Scots  sprang  to  the  fray 
Shouting  "  Scotland  and  freedom  for  ever  and  aye  ! " 

The  tyrant  may  tremble !  the  claymores  will  clash, 
And  the  eye  of  the  clansmen  with  vengeance  will  flash — 
And  the  axe  of  Lochaber  its  thousands  will  slay : 
Hark !  harken,  the  war-cry  "  St.  Andrew  for  aye  ! " 

O'er  mountain  and  valley  the  wild  slogans  ring, 
Up !  Rise !  draw  the  sword  for  our  Country  and  King ; 
Though  blood  dye  the  heather  from  Tweed  to  the  Spey, 
The  thistle  shall  flourish — shall  flourish  for  aye  ! 

Rouse,  Scotland  !  Up  Scotsmen  !  come  ruin,  come  wreck, 
No  tyrant  shall  ever  put  foot  on  our  neck ; 
Blow  trumpet !  Sound  pibroch  the  undying  lay — 
That  freedom  shall  reign  in  our  country  for  aye  ! 

The  beacons  are  blazing  on  each  mountain  crest, 
Unquench'd  is  the  fire  in  each  patriot  breast ; 
They  fight  and  they  conquer — God  is  their  stay — 
Caledonia,  their  country,  for  ever  and  aye ! 

Be  it  ever  remember'd,  the  glory  and  fame  , 

Of  Wallace  and  Bruce,  gallant  Douglas  and  Graem, 
Of  our  fathers  who  fell,  but  who  never  gave  way —  ; 
Their  glory  was  Scotland  and  freedom  for  aye !       i 

Now,  the   sword's  in  the  scabbard  —  unbuckled's  the 

shield. 
The  pen  is  the  victor  !  the  Union  is  sealed — 
Ye  winds  waft  the  peace-song  till  time  pass  away, 
And  God  guard  the  Thistle  of  Scotland  for  aye ! 


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A   KITTLIN   CLATTER. 


A    KiTTLIN     CLATTEI^i 


Inurihed  to  JVm.  Barclay^  Etf, 


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E  wee  auld  fashion'd  glow'rin'  kittlin, 
As  sure's  I  live  at  mice  you're  ettlin'; 
Tuts !  in  the  neuk  ye  now  are  settlin' 

To  tak'  a  nap, 
Ye  ha'e  win  through  wi'  your  bit  brattlin' — 

Ye're  sound's  a  tap. 

Your  twa  bit  e'en  are  steekit  fast, 
Unmindfu'  o'  the  wintry  blast ; 
Ye  care  na'  how  folk  fend  or  fast — 

Midst  weal  or  woe 
A  sheep's  e'e  at  your  tail  ye  cast 

And  round  ye  go ! 

Guid  guide  us  a' !  you're  nae-ways  lazy, 

I  ferlie  sair  ye  no  grow  dizzy ; 

**  Get  out  my  road  ye  donnert  hussy — " 

That's  Grannie's  growl — 
**  Ye're  just  amang  my  feet  or  claes  aye 

Ye  crawlin'  sowl." 

"  I'll  send,"  quo'  she,  *'  I'll  send  for  Jock, 
He'll  clank  ye  in  an  auld  mouth  pock, 
He'll  mak  ye  birr  out  owre  the  rock, 

Wi'  little  clatter 
Syne  ye  may  splarge  an'  blaw  an'  chock 

Amang  tilie  water." 


.V 


THE   KITTLIN   CLATTER. 


33 


•*  Losh !  Grannie,  let  the  brute  a-be, 
We'll  strive  wi'  the  bit  beast  to  'gree, 
There's  room  for  it,  and  you  and  me — 

Rin  1  Grannie,  rin 
See  there  !  the  aumry  door's  a-jee  ; 

Great  grief!  it's  in." 

Poor  brute !  ye  little  ken  what's  comin', 
Dogs  will  soon  at  your  tail  be  bummin', 
And  trees  and  houses  ye'll  be  climbin' 

Wi'  fuffs  an'  granes. 
And  bairns  will  at  ye  hard  be  slingin' 

Baith  sticks  and  stanes. 

Now  !  there  ye  stand  and  croon  and  girn, 

Whiff !  ye  are  aff  ayont  the  kirn, 

You're  out !  you're  there,  baith  skin  and  birn ; 

What's  that  i'  faith  ? 
Preserve  us  a' !  it's  Grannie's  pirn — 

As  sure  as  death  ! 

There  now  !  ye've  cleek'd  her  auld  mutch  string, 
Down  to  the  floor  the  mutch  ye  bring ; 
Your  neck  will  get  an  unco  wring, 

She's  hirplin'  ben : 
I'll  save  ye  yet  ye  silly  thing 

Afore  she  ken. 

Here  comes  my  wee  bit  Nellie  toddlin'. 
An'  round  about  my  knee  she's  hoddlin'. 
She's  now  the  wee  bit  pussie  coddlin', 

In  her  bit  dadle  ; 
She'll  no  be  lang  the  beastie  saddlin', 

I'll  bet  a  bodle. 

Out  loups  the  cat !  down  fa's  my  dautie  ! 
Get  out  my  sight  ye  nasty  catie, 
I'll  fell  ye  wi'  this  muckle  tatie ; 

Come  here  my  hinnie. 
Come  here,  we'll  ha'e  a  couthie  chatie, 

We'll  tell  your  Minnie. 

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YE   BALLAD   OF   JEAN  IE   JOHNSTON, 


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Come  to  my  hand,  my  wee  bit  pussie, 
Ye  aiblins  soon  will  catch  a  mousie, 
An'  now,  sae  lang's  I  ha'e  a  housie 

Out  owre  my  head, 
Your  birses  in  a  plate  ye'll  souse  aye, 

'Mang  milk  an'  bread. 

Ye're  mair  contented  than  your  maister, 
Wha  still  maun  pingle,  darg,  and  pester, 
Although  Dame  Fortune  aft  he's  chas'd  her, 

Baith  e're  and  late, 
The  slippery  jade,  he's  ne'er  caress'd  her — 

E'en  to  this  date  ! 

Soon  I  maun  jouk  'neath  death's  dark  wave. 
Soon  wintry  blasts  will  owre  me  rave  ; 
Will  ye  come  mewin'  to  my  grave, 

My  wee  bit  pet  ? 
Or  will  ye  just  be  like  the  lave, 

An'  soon  forget? 


•  ■  • 


t.-^i 


Ye  Ballad  op    Jeanie   Johnston. 


IJOW  Tibbie  Johnston's  daughter 
Gaed  doon  the  burn-brae, 

^  And  she  sat  doon  upon  the  bank, 
Amang  the  new  mawn  hay. 

'Twas  autumn,  and  the  golden  sun 
Shone  bright  o'er  hill  and  dale, 

But  the  cheek  o'  Jeanie  Johnston 
Was  unco  wan  and  pale. 


iii 


YE    BALLAD   OF   JEANIE   JOHNSTON. 


35 


The  stream  o'  Watch  ran  wimplin'  clear, 
The  lambs  danced  on  the  lea, 

The  lark  sang  blythesome  i'  the  lift, 
The  shillfa  on  the  tree. 

The  swallow  skimm'd  the  glassy  pool, 
The  bees  humm'd  to  and  fro, 

But  the  heart  o'  Jeanie  Johnston 
Was  filled  wi'  mickle  woe. 

Now  up  the  haugh  there  cam'  a  lad, 
His  name  was  John  McBride, 

And  he  sat  doon  amang  the  hay 
By  Jeanie  Johnston's  side. 

She  turned  away  her  head  and  said, 

"  O  !  gang  awa  frae  me, 
For  you  must  know  it  soon  as  syne 

Your  bride  I  canna  be  ! " 

Now  he  has  said  "  O  !  Jeanie  dear, 

My  love,  my  joy,  my  a', 
I  little  dream'd  frae  your  sweet  lips 

Such  heartless  words  would  fa' ! 

"  Last  night,  O  !  Jeanie  Johnston, 
Last  night,  no  further  gane. 

Did  ye  no  vow  doon  'mang  the  birks 
That  ye  wad  be  my  ain  ?  " 

"  Last  night  when  I  gade  hame,  John, 

My  mother  ca'd  me  ben, 
And  she  did  say,  *  where  ha'e  ye  been 

I  e'en  wad  like  to  ken  ?  ' 

**  *  This  precious  moment  tell  the  truth, 

Or  dearly  ye  will  rue.' 
I  hung  my  head  and  oh  !  I  said 

That  I  had  been  wi'  you  ! 


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YE    BALLAD   OF   JEANIE   JOHNSTON. 


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"  My  mother's  face  gat  red  wi'  rage, 
Her  eyes  she  opened  wide, 

And  then  she  cried  *  ye  ne'er  shall  be 
A  wife  to  John  McBride  1 ' 

"  *  For  I  have  got  for  you  a  man, 
His  name  is  John  McFee, 

And  ere  a  month  flies  o'er  your  head 
His  chosen  bride  you'll  be  ! ' 

"  She  shook  her  finger  and  she  said, 
*  Of  John  McBride  beware'. 

And  then  my  tears  cam'  rowin'  doon> 
And  Oh  !  my  heart  is  sair !  " 

Now  John  McBride  rose  to  his  feet. 

An  angry  lad  was  he, 
And  he  did  swear  he'd  be  the  death — 

The  death  o'  John  McFee  ! 

Then  up  rose  Jeanie  Johnston, 
And  she  spoke  with  a  will. 

And  she  did  cry  **  for  mercy's  sake 
His  heart's  blood  do  not  spill  I 

"  'Tis  better  far  to  dree  our  weird. 
And  with  this  plan  agree — 

That  you  will  wed  some  other  maid> 
And  I'll  wed  John  McFee  !  " 

He  heard  her  words,  he  lifeless  fell 
Down  by  th  e  water  side, 

In  agony  she  cried  :  **  I've  been 
The  death  of  John  McBride 


» 


Now  she  ran  to  the  running  stream^ 

She  ran  with  rapid  pace, 
And  with  her  hands  the  water  scoop'd 

And  laved  it  on  his  face. 


!     I 


YE   BALLAD   OF   JEANIE   JOHNSTON. 


37 


And  soon  he  open'd  up  his  eyes, 

And  when  a  breath  he  drew, 
She  cried  " Oh  live!  Oh  !  live  for  me 

And  I  will  live  for  you  ! " 

The  rosy  ^-ed  came  to  his  cheek 

And  joy  lit  up  his  e'e, 
And  thus  he  spoke,  **0  !  Jeanie  swear. 

You'll  ne'er  wed  John  McFee  !  " 

Then  she  exclaimed  '*  I  here  affirm. 

Whatever  may  betide. 
That  no  man  born  I'll  ever  wed 

But  thee,  my  John  McBride !  " 

As  thus  they  stood  beside  the  burn, 

O  !  what  was  their  dismay. 
When  Tibbie  Johnston  like  a  wraith, 

Cam'  bleezing  doon  the  brae. 

When  she  approach'd  she  cried  "  woe  !  woe ! 

Oh  !  what  is  this  I  see, 
Ye  jade  !  did  I  not  say  last  night 

Ye  must  wed  John  McFee  ?  " 

Now  John  McBride  edged  cannie  up, 
And  meek  and  mim  look'd  at  her ; 

Then  said,  "  Oh  !  Tibbie,  gi'e  consent, 
That  I  may  wed  your  daughter. 

"  I  ha'e  a  house  and  weel  filled  byre. 

Sax  chairs  and  muckle  table, 
A  pat,  a  pan,  a  guid  peat-stack, 

A  trencher  and  a  ladle ! " 

Soon  Tibbie  Johnson  ga'o  consent. 

Soon  to  the  kirk  they  ride. 
And  Jeanie  Johnston  now  is  won. 

And  wed  to  John  McBride  ! 


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38 


SCOTTISH    SANGS. 


When  John  McFee  did  hear  the  news, 
He  snuffed  and  gave  a  sneeze, 

Then  he  lay  down  upon  his  back, 
And  died  of  heart  disease ! 

Now  all  ye  lovers  far  and  near, 
Take  warning  from  this  story, 

Though  sweethearts  may  say  "nay"  to-day, 
They  might  say  "  yes  "  to-morrow. 


»•♦■■ 


Scottish   Sangs. 


J 


jJ^UIDMAN !  losh,  I  wish  ye  were  through  wi'  your 
havers, 
About  your  auld  sangs  an'  your  clashes  and  clavers, 
^    The  floor  is  to  scour  and  the  scones  are  to  bake, 
^  The  stove  is  to  brush  and  the  carpet  to  shake  ; 
An'  still  ye  will  sit,  losh  !  just  hear  to  the  coo, 
An'  the  cacklin'  hens  and  the  famishin'  soo ; 
A  man  sic  as  you,  I'rn  sure  never  was  bom ; 
Hurry  out !  or  the  brutes  will  be  dead  ere  the  mom. 

**  I've  your  trousers  to  mend  and  your  stockin's  to  dern, 
An'  ten  hanks  o'  thread  to  row  up  on  a  pirn, 
/The  woo  is  to  card,  and  the  thmms  are  to  reel, 
j  I've  the  'taties  to  wash  and  the  ingans  to  peel, 
"^The  kinlin's  to  split,  and  the  wood's  to  be  saw'd, 
An'  water — sax  stoups, — frae  the  well  maun  be  draw^d. 
The  claes  are  a'  dirty,  and  as  sure  as  ye're  bom, 
The  washin'  I  canna  pit  aff  till  the  mom. 

"  Hech  me !  can  ye  no  gang  an'  foother  the  coo, 
And  tak  out  some  meat  to  the  hens  and  the  soo; 
The  beds  are  to  mak'  an'  the  dishes  to  wash. 
An'  still  'bout  your  sangs  ye  will  claver  and  clash. 


THE    DIALOGUE   OF   THE    BREEKS. 


39 


Gif  ye  no  gang  awa,  and  look  to  the  horse, 

As  sure  as  I  live  I'll  get  out  a  divorce ! 

Gang  awa !  I'll  come  clank  owre  your  head  wi'  the  tangs; 

Gif  I  hear  ony  mair  'bout  your  ballads  and  sangs." 

"Guid  wife!  losh,  I  hear  ilka  word  that  ye  say, 

But  I  trow  ye  maun  try  to  excuse  me  the  day, 

Frae  Job  ye  maun  strive  a  bit  lesson  to  learn, 

For  I'm  aff  and  awa  to  hear  Angus  Fairbairn." 

"  Guid  man,  will  ye  tak  me  ?  losh !  ma  head's  in  a  creel^ 

But  the  coo  and  the  soo  may  baith  roar  like  the  did, 

I'll  soon  kame  ma  hair  and  throw  on  ma  gown, 

Ma  shawl  and  ma  bonner  wi'  lace  on  the  croon. 

Come,  now,  let's  awa  !  lock  the  door — tak  the  keys  ** — 

And  aff  the  twa  gade  just  as  brisk  as  twa  bees. 

And,  aye  they  did  say,  as  they  hurried  alang, 

"  There's  naething  sae  sweet  as  an  auld  Scottish  sang.** 


•  •  • 


The   Dialogue  of  the   Breeks. 

I E  morn,  as  I  lay  dowie  on  my  back, 

Twa  pair  o'  breeks  did  thus  begin  to  crack  : 


AULD    BREEKS. 

"Aye  !  there  ye  hing  my  braw  new  winsome  kimmer^ 

As  proud  as  ony  butterfly  in  simmer ! 

Ye  look  sae  trim  and  trig  and  unco  neat, 

I  doubt  ye'll  burst  wi'  even-doon  conceit ; 

Ye're  ironed  up,  ye  shaw  nae  speck  or  flaw. 

Your  coat  is  glossy  and  as  black's  a  craw ; 

O'  your  brass  buttons  ye  may  weel  think  muckle. 

And  eke  o'  that  new-fangl'd  big  horse  buckle ; 

But  hooly  lad  !  when  ye're  as  auld  as  me, 

Ye'll  no  be  just  sae  pleasing  to  the  e'e, 


4  Alii 


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40 


THE    DIALOGUE    OF   THE    BREEKS. 


Your  steeks  will  here  and  there  be  rippit  out, 
And  baith  your  knees  be  plaster'd  wi'  a  cloot ; 
There  is  a  proverb  which  I've  heard  folk  say 
That  aye  comes  true,  "  ilk  dog  will  ha'e  his  day." 
The  laughing-stock  ye'll  be  baith  far  and  wide, 
If  ye  no  strive  to  burke  your  pensy  pride ! 
Ye  senseless  thing !  ye  needna  thraw  your  mouth. 
When  ye  ha'e  tint  the  spring-tide  o'  your  youth, 
Ye'll  mind  my  words,  and  then  my  faith  will  ye 
No  geek  wi'  disrespect  on  sic  as  me !  " 


1 


15! 


I" 


NEW    BREEKS. 

"  Ye  antiquated  auld  mis-shapen  rag, 

How  dare  ye  open  out  your  blusterin'  brag  ? 

Ye're  wither'd  up  just  like  an  autumn  docken. 

Yet  still  your  havers  are  a  wee  provokin'; 

The  like  o'  you  to  open  up  your  mouth 

And  speak  to  me  is  impudence  forsooth ! 

Ye're  just  a  thread-bare,  worn  out  worthless  carl, 

Wi'  sic  as  you  I  no  design  to  quarrel, 

*Twill  no  be  lang  I  need  to  thole  your  clack ; 

Ye'll  soon  be  rowed  and  tumbled  in  a  sack — 

Sent  to  the  mill  wi'  some  auld  raggit  body. 

And  be  ripp'd  up  and  workit  into  shoddy ; 

Or  aiblins  yet  may  hing  on  broker's  pegs. 

To  be  ta'en  doon  to  deck  some  beggar's  legs." 

AULD    BREEKS. 

**  Ye  brainless  birkie,  when  like  me  ye're  auld, 
And  a'  your  steeks  are  open  to  the  cauld, 
Ye'll  change  your  tune — ye'll  no  sae  crousely  craw, 
For  pride  like  yours  I  trow  will  get  a  fa' ; 
Some  cleek  or  pike  may  rive  ye  on  the  knee, 
Or  some  mischanter  hap  ye  canna  see  : 
Though  youth  is  on  your  side,  yet  aft  I've  seen 
The  bitter  tear  row  doon  frae  youthfu'  e'en; 


h;:ll*ii 


•lltij, 


THE   DIALOGUE   OF   THE    BREEKS. 


41 


This  warld's  strange,  ye  dmna  ken  the  snares 
That  lurk  in  sofas,  stools  and  sitting  chairs; 
Sae  hold  your  whisht,  although  ye're  young  and  stout^ 
I  yet  wi'  you  might  see  my  day  aboot." 


NEW   BREEKS 

"  Though  ye  have  ae  leg  hangin'  in  the  grave, 
Yet  how  ye  haver,  how  ye  rant  and  rave  ! 
Since  Wilson  shaped  and  dipt  me  wi'  his  shears, 
My  days  seem  weeks,  my  weeks  appear  as  years ; 
Sae  I  will  dance,  and  crousely  I'll  be  singin', 
Sae  lang's  a  button  on  my  waist  band's  hingin' ! 
As  for  the  future,  I'll  no  care  a  flee; 
The  f-iture  no  concerns  the  like  o'  me  !" 

AULD    BREEKS. 

"  I  was  nae  worthless  guid-for-nothing  drab, 
When  Common  dipt  me  frae  a  braw  new  wab, 
He  stitched  me  up  wi'  monie  carefu'  steeks, 
My  goodness  !  then  I  was  a  pair  o'  breeks, 
And  for  a  while  was  like  a  welcome  stranger, 
Made  muckle  o',  and  lived  at  heck  and  manger. 
For  weeks  and  months  my  master  took  guid  care 
Frae  barkin'  dogs  and  gutters  to  beware ; 
And  aye  at  night  the  stour  frae  me  he  whisket. 
E're  he  drew  blanket  up  aboon  his  brisket ; 
And  wlien  he  gaed  his  winsome  lass  to  see, 
She  sat  sae  cosh  contented  on  his  knee ; 
And  ance  I  heard  her  sae,  I  do  declare, 
"That  his  braw  breeks  just  fitted  to  a  hair." 
And  weel  I  mind  when  on  Belle  Island's  banks, 
The  twa  sat  doon  to  rest  awhile  their  shanks ; 
The  birdies  blythesome  on  the  trees  were  singin', 
The  bonnie  flowers  frae  monie  a  stem  were  hingin', 
My  masters  heart  was  light,  and  he  did  croon 
A  stave  or  twa  o'  some  auld  Scottish  tune ; 


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42 


THE    DIALOGUE    OF   THE    BREEKS. 


His  sweetheart  laughed  and  said,  "  to  hear  your  rants 
Ye  seem  upHfted  wi'  your  braw  new  pants." 
My  master  said,  and  faith  he  kissed  her  mou', 
"  I'm  proud  o'  them,  but  far  mair  proud  o'  you  !  * 
Now  when  the  twa  were  yok'd  in  wedlock's  traces, 
I  was  the  breeks  that  hung  upon  his  braces ; 
And  'fore  their  first  wee  bairnie  saw  the  light, 
And  when  our  master  in  the  depths  o'  night 
Ran  for  the  howdy — New  Breeks,  understand 
I  was  the  breeks  cam'  readiest  to  his  hand  ! 
'Gainst  wind  and  water  gae  my  best  resistance, 
And  can  look  back  on  a  weel  spent  existence." 


i 


NEW    BREEKS. 

*'  Tuts  !  ye  auld  gomeril,  now  just  baud  ye  there, 
'Bout  your  auld  ways  I  neither  ken  nor  care ; 
My  master  frae  his  bed  will  soon  be  birrlin', 
And  unco  quick  he  will  redd  out  our  quarr'Hn', 
And  sure  am  I  'twas  you  that  raised  the  shindie, 
And  for  your  pains  he'll  throw  ye  out  the  window." 


AULD   BREEKS. 

*'  Ye  gowk  !  ye  should  be  wallop'd  wi'  a  rung  ; 
Mair  mense  and  manners  then  wad  rule  your  tongue  ! 
In  bygone  days  wisdom  we  learned  to  prize ; 
These  days  seem  gone — the  bairns  are  born  wise  ! 
The  auld  and  frail  are  seldom  now  respected — 
They're  cuffed  aboot,  and  live  and  die  neglected. 
'Gain  I  had  strength  I'd  gie  ye  sic  a  lounder, 
As  lay  ye  at  my  feet  as  flat's  a  flounder  !  '* 

Now  frae  his  bed  the  bard  did  slowly  rise, 
He  gaped  awhile,  and  then  he  rubbed  his  eyes, 
And  thus  he  spoke:    '* I've  hearken'd  your  palaver, 
Auld  Breeks,  ye  yet  stand  tapmaist  in  my  favor, 
Ye've  served  me  weel — ye've  been  the  wale  o'  claes, 
I'll  e'en  no  cast  ye  off  in  your  auld  days ; 


Ml 


■^i?*^! 


s, 


CALEDONIAN    GAMES   ON    BELLE    LSLE. 


43 


When  folk  grow  auld  they  easy  get  bamboozird, 
And  tak'  a  tiff  whene'er  their  temper's  tousil'd, 
But  a  kind  look  or  canty  word  address'd, 
Aye  cheers  their  heart  and  mak's  them  cock  their  crest. 
And  now,  New  Breeks,  I  hope  ye'll  ne'er  neglect, 
To  speak  to  Aulder  Breeks  wi'  due  respect" 

MORAL. 

Now  bairns,  tak'  tent,  be  sure  ye  dinna  fail, 
To  catch  the  heft  and  moral  o'  my  tale. 
Example  take  from  him  who  did  "  engage 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  declining  age.' 


•  >  • 


P 


ALEDONIAN     LrAMES 


ELLE      SLE. 


Games  on   Belle   J 

Inscribed  to  J.  B-   JVilsoriy  Etq, 


For  the  better  undergtanding  of  the  following  rhyme,  it  is  thought 
necessary  to  state  that  "  Hog  Island  "  is  situated  a  short  distance  up  the 
river  from  Detroit ;  that  the  gentlemen  named  are  respected  and  prom- 
inent members  of  the  Caledonian  Club  of  Detroit ;  and  that  they  went 
to  the  island  on  a  certain  day  for  the  purpose  of  making  necessary 
preparations  for  the  annual  games. 


HERE  was  Andrew  and  Johnnie  and  Willy, 
And  Davie — a  comical  dog — 
And  a  Jedburgh  chap  they  ca'  Robin, 
Sailed  awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog. 
When  into  the  boat  they  were  sittin'. 

Quo'  Davie,  "  Bob,  feather  your  oar," 
Syne  they  dashed  and  they  slashed  up  the  river, 
To  the  tune  of  "  Lochaber  no  more." 
And  aye  they  gaed  plowin'  and  rowin', 
Hech  !  how  they  gaed  sweetin'  and  reekin', 
Awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog. 


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44 


CALEDONIAN   GAMES   ON    DELLE   ISLE. 


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Quo'  Johnnie  to  Willy,  "  Come,  Willy, 

Do  sing  us  the  *  Wee  Pickle  Tow,' " 
"Just  sing  it  yersel',"  answered  Willy, 

"  Or  I'll  gar  ye  play  bum  o'er  the  bow." 
Quo'  Robin,  "  The  first  man  that  quarrels, 

Wi'  this  oar  I'll  play  crack  on  his  croon, 
Sae  steek  up  your  lip,  neighbor  Willy, 
And  Johnnie,  ye  Kirk  Yetholm  loon." 
And  aye  they  gaed  jawin'  and  blawin', 
Losh !  how  they  gaed  barkin'  and  bitin' 
Awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog. 

When  on  to  the  island  they  jumpit. 
The  boat  to  a  tree  they  did  tie, 
Quo'  Davie,  "  I'd  herrin'  for  supper. 

This  momin*  I  feel  unco  dry." 
He  claw'd  at  his  head  like  a  harrow. 

Then  out  from  his  pouches  did  draw 
A  bottle  o*  Hielan'  Glendronach, 
And  a  mutchkin  o'  real  usqueba. 

And  syne  they  sat  girnin'  and  laughin', 
Gosh !  how  they  sat  puffin'  and  smokin*, 
Awa*  on  the  Island  of  Hog! 

And  when  they  a'  got  a  bit  toothfu'. 

And  when  the  drink  got  to  their  wames, 
Quo'  Andrew,  "  Come,  freens,  let  us  dander. 

And  look  at  the  grund  for  the  games." 
Then  awa  through  the  woods  they  gaed  laughin*. 

And  when  they  got  up  to  the  place, 
Quo'  Robin  to  Willy,  "  Come,  Willy, 
Losh,  man,  I  will  try  ye  a  race." 

And  soon  they  gaed  sprachlin'  and  rinnin*, 
Wow !  how  they  gaed  pechin*  an'  bleezin' 
Awa*  on  the  Island  of  Hog ! 


41 


I'll  race  ye  and  beat  ye,"  quo'  Willy, 
Then  awa'  o'er  the  green  they  did  loup, 


CALEDONIAN  GAMES  ON  BELLK  ISI.F. 


45 


But  Willy  played  clank  on  his  stomach, 

And  Robin  fell  down  on  his  doup, 
Then  they  leugh  till  their  sides  were  near  burstin'. 

^^uo'  Robin,  "  My  nose  I  ha*e  bled  ;  " 
Quo'  Johnnie,  "  Come,  Robin,  get  up,  man, 
Did  ye  think  ye  was  gaein  to  bed  ?" 

And  sair  they  gaed  whummlin'  and  tumblin'. 
Bang  !  how  they  went  clitin'  and  scraughin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

And  now  they  began  to  the  wrestlin', 

Sair,  hard  were  their  tussles  and  rugs, 
At  the  links  o'  the  neck  and  the  brisket, 
At  shoulder-blades,  hatRts  and  lugs. 
How  teughly  they  stuck  to  the  business. 

For  the  feck  o'  a  couple  o'  hours. 
Till  their  claes  just  in  ribbons  were  hangin'. 
And  their  banes  were  a  covered  wi'  clours. 
And  aye  they  gaed  gripin'  and  ripin', 
Haith  !  how  they  gaed  skitin'  and  slippin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog ! 

By  this  they  were  a'  gettin'  roupit, 

Wi'  a  drappie  their  gizzards  did  slake, 
Then  Dave  round  his  head  swung  the  hammer — 

Wi'  a  bang  baith  gaed  clash  in  the  lake  ! 
Then  Andrew  began  to  the  puttin', 

Slick  !  the  stane  to  his  shouther  did  raise. 
But  it  slippit  somehow  frae  his  clutches. 
And  cam'  yerk  on  the  end  o'  his  taes! 

And  aye  they  gaed  dreepin'  and  creepin', 
Wow !  how  they  gaed  dragglin'  and  limpin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog ! 

And  syne  they  began  to  the  jumpin', 

Dave  lap  like  a  hen  aff  her  eggs ; 
Then  Andrew  cried,  "Jo^^"ie>  loo^  ^t  me,'' 

Ga'e  a  spring  and  maist  broke  baith  his  legs. 


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46 


CALEDONIAN   GAMES   ON    BELLE   ISLE. 


And  next  they  began  to  play  quoits, 

Jock's  quoit  gaed  clean  aff  the  track, 
It  gaed  up  in  the  air  like  a  feather. 

Then  cam'  down  upon  Jedburgh's  back. 
And  still  they  went  flingin'  and  ringin' 
My !  how  they  gaed  backin'  and  whackin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog ! 

On  receipt  o'  the  knock  Robin  loupit, 
Syne  roared  like  a  mad  parish  bull, 
"  Haud  your  tongue,  man ;  keep  still,  man,"  quo'  Davie, 

"  And  be  thankfu'  it's  no'  split  your  skull." 
Quo,  Andrew,  "  I  think  we'll  be  gaein', 

Wi'  terror  my  very  heart's  filled ; 
If  we  stay  ony  langer  I'm  fearin' 
Ilka  soul  o'  us  a'  will  be  killed." 

And  oh  !  they  stood  whingin'  and  gruin', 
Man  !  how  they  stood  glaikin'  and  glunchin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

"  Losh  !  Andrew,  ye're  right,  man,"  quo'  Davie ; 

"  My  very  heart's  blood's  on  the  shiver, 
For  somehow  I  canna  help  thinkin' 

We're  sure  to  be  drowned  in  the  river;" 
Yet  ilka  ane  swore  to  the  ither, 

Afore  they  gaed  aff  to  their  hames, 
That  they'd  try  hard  and  sair  to  do  better 
At  the  Grand  Caledonian  Games. 

Then  hame  they  cam'  thuddin'  and  scuddin', 
Hech  !  how  they  cam'  swearin'  and  tearin', 
Awa'  frae  the  Island  of  Hog  1 


.i 


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Will 

A  lad 

The  J 

An' 

Whai 

I  cry 

The 

Nae 

Aside 

Thou 

Attir 

Forti 

Last 

As  su 

I  too 

I  e'en 

When 

I  see 


A    PASTORAL. 


47 


A  Pastoral, 

Wl^TTEN    ON    THE    OCCASION    OF    ^AMES    J^ORSYTH,    ^SC^, 
LEAVING    pETROIT,    J^EBF^UARY     1ST,     187I. 


^nwRCHY — "Come,  Willy  man,  come  in  and  sup  some 

^H)  drammack, 

HOW  And  tell  us  a'  the  news  aboot  Hamtramack  : 

%     Has  your  guidwife  gat  hale  and  weel  and  canty  ? 
Does  still  the  ague  hing  aboot  your  Aunty  ? 
Has  Jean  Galbraith  gat  buckled  to  Tam  Cleaver? 
I  hope  the  bairns  ha'e  no  the  scarlet  fever ! 
Ye  look  sae  dowff,  sae  dowie  and  downcast, 
Ye  look  like  ane  that  hasna'  broke  his  fast, 
Ye  look  like  ane  dumfounder'd  wi'  despair  ! 
Come  man,  sit  down  and  tell  us  a'  your  care." 

Willy — "  I  weel  I  wat,  I  do  feel  unco  wae  ! 

A  lade  o'  grief  hangs  owre  me  night  and  day — 

The  smell  o'  parritch  fairly  maks  me  scunner. 

An'  the  guid  wife,  as  sure  as  death  I  shun  her ; 

Whan  e'en  the  bairns  come  climbin'  on  my  knee, 

I  cry  'get  aff !  for  guid  sake  let  me  be.' 

The  guidwife  tries  her  best  to  ease  me  care — 

Nae  words  can  calm  the  bosom  o'  despair ; 

Aside  the  fire  I  sit  and  sigh  and  grane, 

Though  weel  I  ken  my  grief  is  a'  in  vain. 

At  times  I  tak'  a  dander  doon  the  yard. 

For  the  bit  flowers  I've  now  lost  a'  regard  ; 

Last  week  I  had  some  apple  shoots  to  graft — 

As  sure's  I  live  I  think  I'm  gaein  daft — 

I  took  the  shoots  and  midst  my  granes  and  grunts, 

I  e'en  did  graft  them  on  some  auld  kail  runts ! 

Where  bonnie  flowers  did  spring  the  weeds  now  grow ; 

I  see  the  weeds — I  stand  and  claw  my  pow ; 


(    if*: 


i\ 


r4 

'y*    1 1 

'*- 
'*"■  1* 


/,■  • 


M 


^ 

m 


48 


A    PASTOR AI,. 


I 


I  canna  use  the  spade  to  delve  or  dig — 

My  pruning  knife  ne'er  sneds  the  useless  twig  ; 

The  watering  pan  beneath  the  willows  lie — 

The  flowers  hang  down  their  heads  and  fade  and  die  ; 

The  sangs  o'  birds  did  ance  my  bosom  cheer, 

Their  notes  now  fa'  in  discord  on  my  ear." 

Archy — "  For  mercy's  sake  what's  wrang — ha'e  ye  the 

ague? 
Or  worse  than  that,  ha'e  ye  gat  the  lumbago  ?  " 

Willy — "  O  !  Archy  man  !  I'm  unco  laith  to  say, 
Our  bosom  friend — our  Jamie's  gaun  away. 
I've  kent  him  lang — he  aye  was  true  as  steel ; 
There's  nane  can  ken  the  bitter  grief  I  feel ; 
There's  few  can  ken  how  ill  it  is  to  part 
Frae  him  we  love — the  brother  o'  our  heart." 


'^ 

H 

H 

W 

1 

M 

H 

'M 

VV 

Ar 

Wi 
Th( 
'Ai 


Archy — "  Preserve  us  a' !  is  Jamie  gaun  to  leave? 

There's  mair  than  you  wi'  bitter  grief  will  grieve ; 

He  aye  was  kind — sae  gentle  and  sae  mild — 

An  honest  man — a  sage — at  heart  a  child, 

No  words  were  his  of  selfishness  or  cant ; 

His  purse  was  open  to  his  friends  in  want ; 

If  want  or  woe  his  fellow  mortal  griev'd, 

His  heart  responded  and  his  hand  reliev'd. 

In  learning,  we  maun  own  he  is  our  daddie. 

He's  just  a  kind  o'  walkin*  Cyclopaedia ; 

He's  read  the  works  o'  Reid  and  famous  Locke, 

He  kens  the  law  frae  Lyttleton  and  Coke  ; 

Can  gie  ye  screeds  frae  Bums  and  Scott  and  Brown, 

And  Rhymer  Tam  wha  lived  in  Ercildown ; 

He  glories  in  the  fame,  the  works  and  style 

C  that  great  thinker  they  ca'  Tam  Carlyle. 

I  weel  I  wat  his  life  has  no  been  idle, 

But  best  o'  a'  he  ne'er  forgot  his  Bible. 

O  !  doleful  hour !  O  melancholy  day. 

We'll  hae  nae  joy  when  Jamie  gang's  away  ! " 


% 


c 


!■ 


LAMKNTATION    FOR    MIKK    (WI.F, 


49 


Willy — "Where'er  he  gangs,  I'm  sure  I  wish  him  weel, 

'Midst  a'  his  care,  he  was  a  canty  chiel*. 

His  head  is  crammed  wi'  wisdom  and  wi'  lair, 

He  rose  victorious  o'er  the  word  '  despair.' 

When  he's  awa,  where'er  his  lot  be  cast, 

1  fondly  trust  his  cares  will  a'  blaw  past. 

May  health  and  plenty  cheer  his  ain  fireside  — 

His  wife  and  son,  his  comfort  and  his  pride  ; 

'Mang  men  o'  worth,  in  the  first  rank  we  class  him — 

Where'er  he  bides,  may  (iod  forever  bless  him." 

Archy — "Thae's  bonnie  words,  I'm  sure  ye  speak  them 

true. 
Will  ye  no  tak  a  dram  to  vveet  your  mou  ? 
The  back  unto  the  burden  we  maun  bend, 
'And  mak  the  best  o'  what  we  canna  mend.' " 


■■»♦■«- 


Lamentation   fof^   ^ike    Gill. 

A  CELEBRATED  PLAtER  ON  THE  UNION  PIPES. 
Respectfully  inscribed  to  the  Hon.  Wm.  Adair. 

ETROIT  folks  are  drown'd  in  woe, 
Down  o'er  their  cheeks  the  salt  tears  flow, 
Death  e'en  has  dealt  an  unco  blow, 

And  frae  us  ta'en 
A  man  who  never  had  a  foe — 

Mike  Gill  is  gane. 

We  kent  poor  Mike  for  monie  a  year — 
His  sterling  worth  demands  a  tear, 
Upon  this  earth  he  had  nae  peer — 

He  stood  alane; 
We  weel  may  wail  beside  the  bier 

O'  him  that's  gane  ! 


4 


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50 


LAMFNTATION    FOR    MIKE   GILL. 


When  nights  got  lang,  and  folk  got  douce, 
When  Mike  cam'  in,  we  soon  got  crouse, 
Baith  glee  and  gladness  were  let  loose — 

We  were  sae  fain  ; 
But  grief  now  reigns  in  every  house 

Since  Mike  is  gane  ! 

The  auld  folk  liked  him  unco  weel, 
The  young  folk  followed  at  his  heel, 
The  lasses  aften  filled  his  creel 

Wi'  beef  and  bane ; 
But  now  he's  gat  his  hinmost  meal — 

Alas !  he's  gane  ! 

When  marching  'neath  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
'Twas  grand  to  hear  him  blaw  the  pipes ; 
Now  printers,  sobbing,  set  the  types, 

Wi'  grief  and  pain ; 
Het,  waesome  tears  the  Bard  now  wipes 

For  him  that's  gane  ! 

We  weel  may  sit  about  the  burn, 
And  in  dark  glens  and  valleys  mourn. 
And  ilka  kind  o'  comfort  scorn, 

Wi'  goustie  mane ; 
Alas  !  alas  !  he'll  ne'er  return — 

He's  ever  gane ! 

His  pipes  ha'e  gien  their  lang,  last  hum. 
Again  we'll  never  hear  them  bum. 
They're  hanging  now  ayont  the  lum 

On  their  bit  chain ; 
Their  breath  has  fled,  alas  !  they're  dumb — 

Like  him  wha's  gane  ! 

For  guidsake  ne'er  let  Barclay  know 
That  Mike  lies  cauld  and  stiff  below, 
Poor  man  !  he'd  ne'er  get  o'er  the  blow — 

He'd  break  life's  chain, 
Or,  chew  for  aye  the  cud  o'  woe 

For  him  that's  gane  ! 


LAMENTATION    FOR    MIKK   (ill.I,. 


51 


When  Mike  play'd  up  an  Irish  reel, 

We  neither  minded  maut  or  meal, 

But  up  and  down,  and  round  we'd  wheel, 

And  plunge  and  strain  ; 
Now  in  the  ranks  o'  grief  we  S(iueel 

Since  he  is  gane  ! 

When  Johnston  frae  toon  lots  would  part, 

He  aye  set  Mike  up  in  a  cart, 

'Twas  then  we  heard  the  minstrel's  art 

And  canty  strain ; 
He'll  ne'er  blaw  mair  at  wake  or  mart — 

Alack  !  he's  gane. 

He  ne'er  was  known  to  hum  and  look 
And  glow'r  upon  a  music-book, 
But  just  sit  smiling  in  the  nook, 

And  drink  a  drain  ; 
Ae  finger  had  the  crotchet  crook 

On  him  that's  gane. 

When  he  was  cuffed  about  wi'  care, 
He  took  a  dram  and  whiles  took  mair, 
But  never  fell  frae  aff  a  chair 

Wi'  drunken  grane  ; 
Now  frae  the  roots  we  rive  our  hair — 

Woe's  me  !  he's  gane. 

Ae  night  he  cam'  fu'  crouse  and  trig. 
To  play  us  up  a  blythesome  jig. 
But  oh  !  he  gat  an  unco  dig — 

It  soon  was  plain 
That  he  had  crossed  death's  dismal  brig — 

He's  gane  !  he's  gane  ! 

The  doctors  round  about  him  press'd, 
They  laid  their  ear  upon  his  chest, 
They  placed  their  fingers  on  his  wrist, 

And  jug'lar  vein  : 
But  Mike  did  never  cock  his  crest. 

For  he  was  gane  ! 


<4 


V. 


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J--, 


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,«         • 


'•^  vr* 


r^  S 


53 


FOLK  SHOULD  AYE  BE  EQUAL  YOKIT. 


P'  '^^ 


Down  where  the  weeping  willows  wave 
James  Sutherland  has  filled  Mike's  grave, 
And  at  his  feet  has  set  a  stave, 

At's  head  a  stane. 
Which  tells  McGraw  and  a'  the  lave 

That  Mike  is  gane  ! 

We  trace  Mike's  faults  to  Adam's  fa' — 
Mike  had  some  faults,  but  they  were  sma'- 
His  virtues  overtopped  them  a', 

I  here  maintain, 
And  hope  the  Union  Pipes  he'll  blaw, 

Where'er  he's  gane  ! 


• » • 


Folk  should  aye   be  E^ual  Yokit. 


Inscribed  to   C.   Taylor^  Esq.    Sarniay  Ont. 


"f' 


^ULD  Scotland  !  loud  I  sing  your  praise. 

Your  honest  men  and  wives  sae  gawsie. 
May  they  aye  walk  in  wisdom's  ways. 
And  keep  the  cantle  o'  the  causey  ! 

May  peace  and  plenty  be  their  lot — 
Contented  wi'  guid  brose  and  parritch, 

And  still  on  Sundays  boil  the  pot. 

And  ne'er  forget  their  single  carritch  ! 

Auld  Scotland,  ye're  a  stalwart  chield  ! 

The  Southern  foe  could  never  whang  ye, 
Faith !  set  ye  on  the  fighting  field. 

The  very  deevil  couldna  bang  ye  ! 


I 
'1 

"] 
Si 

SI 
A^ 


^ 


FOLK  SHOULD  AYE  BE  EQUAL  YOKIT. 


55 


May  a'  your  bairns  be  aye  discreet, 
Ha'e  a  clean  sark  and  Sunday  jackit, 

Sair !  sair,  the  bard  wad  roar  and  greet 
Should  Scotia's  bairns  be  disrespekit ! 

Her  bonnie  lasses  !  guid  keep  me, 

They've  led  me  monie  a  weary  bratde, 

Scouring  at  night  o'er  moor  and  lea, 
And  swarfing  sair  the  out  door  cattle. 

Ae  back-end  night,  O  !  hech  how  me, 

I  gat  a  mair  than  ordinar'  fright ; 
Until  the  very  day  I  dee, 

I'll  ne'er  forget  that  unco  night. 

On  the  har'st-rig  I  shore  wi'  ane — 

Her  maiden  name  was  Nellie  Martin  ; 

Love,  feverish  love,  on  me  struck  in. 
And  Nell  and  I  began  the  courtin'. 

She  had  a  waist  sae  jimp  and  sma', 

And  when  she  smiled  she  looked  sae  bonnie, 
And  then  her  lips,  preserve  as  a* — 

They  were  as  sweet  as  heather  honey  ! 

How  grand  !  how  lovely  was  her  face, 

A  perfect  heaven  was  in  her  e'e ! 
To  crown  her  channs  she  had  a  grace 

That  played  the  deil  wi'  mair  than  me ! 

'Twas  aughteen  years,  no  ae  day  mair. 
Since  first  she  gave  her  infant  cry — 

She  cam'  just  at  the  Lammas  fair. 
As  Session  Records  testify. 

She  lived  sax  miles  cut  ower  the  bent, 

At  a  bit  house  ayont  the  glen  ; 
Ae  night  I  couldna  stay  content, 

I  fain  wad  see  my  bonnie  hen  ! 


■)    4     *    71" 

.  fit. 


54 


FOLK  SHOULD  AYE  BE  EQUAL  YOKIT. 


« 


V,. 


I  sleely  stole  aff  like  a  mouse. 

And  o'er  the  moor  I  soon  gaed  scrievin' ; 
The  clouds  by  this  had  broken  loose — 

The  winds  blew  out  the  lights  o'  heaven  I 

I  gropit  o'er  the  auld  wood  brig. 

Got  through  the  birks  and  past  the  rashes ; 
Without  a'e  lee,  whan  at  Whinrig, 

Losh  !  I  began  to  ban  the  lasses  ! 

The  lightnings  leaped  across  the  sky, 
I  lap  out  o'er  stone  dykes  and  fences ; 

I  thought  I  heard  the  kelpies  cry — 

"That  gouk  has  surely  tint  his  senses.'^ 

At  times  I  swat  wi'  downright  dread, 

And  ance  I  foundered  'mang  the  glaur ; 

As  forth  I  gade  wi'  swirlin'  speed 

I  headlang  plunged  out  o'er  a  scaur ! 

Hech  me  !  thought  I,  I'm  done  for  noo, 
My  heart-strings  gae  an  unco  pull. 

Fear  jumpit  down  my  very  mou, 

Syne  struck  the  keybone  o'  my  skull ! 

I  hae  had  monie  an  unco  fright, 
But  a'  the  frights  that  e'er  I  got 

Are  nothing  to  that  desperate  night, 
As  down  that  fearfu'  gulph  I  shot ! 

Oh  !  Nellie,  in  my  hours  of  ease 

I've  worshiped  e'en  your  very  locks, 

I  little  dreamed  through  space  I'd  bleeze. 
And  kill  mysel'  'mang  stanes  and  rocks  ! 

I  thought  on  Nellie's  lock  o'  hair, 

That  o'er  my  throbbing  bosom  hung, 

I  tried  to  roar,  but  in  the  air 

Fear  shut  the  hinges  o'  my  tongue  ! 


FOLK  SHOULD  AYE  BE  EQUAL  YOKIT. 


55 


As  down  and  down  and  down  I  fell, 
A  pleasing  notion  filled  my  head, 

Wi'  my  last  breath  to  cry  on  Nell, 

Syne  close  my  eyes  amang  the  dead. 

An  unco  job  I  had  to  land, 

Mang  whins,  and  sheep,  and  muckle  stanes, 
Dumfounder'd !  I  cam'  to  a  stand 

That  jumbled  up  my  very  brains. 

That  night  I  could  not  see  my  Nell — 
For  broken  collar  banes  and  legs ; 

At  length  I  gave  a  dismal  yell 

That  echoed  'mang  the  hills  and  craigs  I 

The  coward  sheep  scoured  to  the  hills. 
The  foxes  to  their  holes  ran  rife, 

The  cattle  turned  up  their  tails 
And  fled  as  if  for  very  life  ! 

The  corbies  croaked  out  o*er  my  head, 
Nae  doubt  expecting  my  last  groan, 

And  other  brutes  famed  for  their  greed. 
Cam'  out  to  see  what  was  gaun  on. 

And  there  I  lay,  and  gimed  and  grat, 
With  agony  my  thoughts  ran  wild, 

Aye !  there  I  lay,  I  weel  I  wat, 
As  helpless  as  a  little  child. 

Next  morn,  the  wind  had  blawn  its  warst. 
When  Tam-the-herd  cam'  to  me  hotchin', 

He  leugh  till  he  was  like  to  burst — 

Syne  speered  "gif  I  was  at  the  poachin'." 

"  Na  !  na  ! "  quo'  I,  "  Tam  get  a  cart— 
For  ance  ye're  fairly  aff  your  eggs ; 

I  doubt  I've  broken  Nellie's  heart; 
Forby  ma  collar  banes,  and  legs." 


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I?!  . 


56 


FOLK  SHOULD  AYE  BE  EQUAL  YOKIT. 


Tam  ran  to  get  a  horse  and  cart, 

I  thought  'mang  men  he  was  the  marrow ; 
A  clud  o'  grief  cam'  ower  my  heart, 

As  back  he  dash'd  wi'  a  wheelbarrow. 

He  trailed  me  in,  he  wheeled  and  wheel'd, 
Ungratefu'  like  I  did  abhor  him ; 

Though  Tam  was  a  lang  winded  chield, 
For  ance  he  had  his  wark  afore  him. 

He  pushed  and  wheeled  and  better  wheel'd. 
At  ilka  jolt  my  banes  did  harrow, 

'I Vice  o'er  he  stagger'd — thrice  he  reel'd, 
And  sent  me  headlang  out  the  barrow ! 

We  laired  and  founder'd  in  a  bog, 
And  oh !  an  unco  job  had  Tam, 

He  swore  against  his  collie  dog, 

And  ance  he  prayed  and  sung  a  psalm. 

Wi'  sair  ado  he  gat  me  hame 

He  wheeled  iDe  up  to  the  bed-stok, 

Quo'  he,  "  I  am  baith  tired  and  lame, 
Wi'  hurling  you  since  four  o'clock  ! 

"  Gif  e'er  ye  gang  that  gate  again, 
May  I  be  whipit,  hanged  or  shot, 

By  day  or  night,  in  wind  or  rain, 
Ye'll  lie  for  me  until  ye  rot." 

My  grannie  cried  wi'  accents  wild, 

"  What's  that  ye've  brought  wi'  sic  a  hurl  ?  " 
Quo'  Tam,  "  it  is  your  ain  grandchild 

I'm  posting  to  the  other  warl'." 

Nine  weeks  I  lay  upon  my  bed. 

Death  like  a  herd  did  on  me  whistle ; 

And  in  that  t^me  my  Nell  got  wed 

To  an  auld  sumph  ca'd  Patie  Russell  ! 


ROB   TROTTERS   GIMMER. 


57 


Ah !  Nell,  ah  !  Nell,  ye  ne'er  can  ken 
What  I  for  jou  ha'e  had  to  suffer, 

But  warst  o'  a'  to  caickle  ben — 

Wi'  that  auld  groaning,  girning  bufter. 

And  yet,  I  still  may  crously  era', 

That  I  fell  through  frae  Nellie's  chains  ; 

She  drives  Pate's  head  against  the  wa', 
And  kicks  and  scarts  his  very  banes. 

Ae  day  she  coursed  him  like  a  hare. 

She  ran  him  round  and  round  the  stable. 

She  just  had  breath  and  naething  mair 
To  knock  him  senseless  wi'  the  paidle ! 

*Tvvas  a'  Pate's  blame,  the  donnert  fool, 
I  wadna  greet  though  he  v/as  chockit, 

I'm  sure  he  might  ha'e  learned  at  school — 
That  folk  should  aye  be  equal  yokit. 


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JlOB 


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ROTTER'S 


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IMMER. 


HE  snaw  lay  braid-cast  on  the  grund, 

I  guess  twal  inches  deep, 
When  Robbie  Trotter  frae  the  hill 

Drove  doon  a  flock  o'  sheep. 
As  he  cam'  past  Killpallet  burn, 

The  sky  began  a  scowlin'. 
The  feath'ry  snaw  began  to  fa'. 

The  angry  winds  gaed  howlin'. 

He  had  twa  dogs,  ane  took  the  pet. 
And  'gan  to  whinge  and  whimple; 

Rob  raised  his  cleek  wi'  a'  his  might 
And  struck  it  on  the  rumple  ! 


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ROB   TROTTER  S    GIMMER. 


11, ■   I*  ' 


It  ga'e  a  howl,  sprang  in  the  air, 
Then  fell  back  fair  confounded, 

It  clapped  its  tail  atween  its  legs. 
And  ower  the  dyke  it  bounded ! 

Rob  whistled  on  it  loud  and  lang, 

And  raised  an  unco  racket. 
Then  said,  "  the  blasted  brute's  gane  hame^ 

I  hope  the  deil  may  tak'  it." 
'Mang  blinding  drift  Rob  did  his  best 

To  keep  his  sheep  in  order, 
As  he  was  bound  by  hook  or  crook 

To  take  them  ower  the  border. 

Some  o'  the  drove  were  yald  and  strong, 

And  some  were  waff  and  worn  out, 
And  these,  at  times,  frae  holes  and  bogs 

He  pulled  by  tail  and  horn  out. 
When  he  gat  to  the  Rinklaw-hill, 

He  felt  bumbazed  and  worret. 
And  trowed  that  to  his  journey's  end 

He  never  would  win  forrit. 

He  glower'd  whiles  at  his  finger  ends, 

To  see  if  they  were  frozen. 
And  whiles  he'd  raise  his  hand  to  feel 

If  still  remained  his  nose  on. 
He  thought  upon  the  lass  he  lo'ed, 

Her  face,  her  shape  and  carriage. 
Prospective  bHss  cheered  up  his  heart, 

And  freshen'd  up  his  courage. 

The  silv'ry  moon  frae  'mang  the  cluds 

Now  got  a  kind  o'  clearance, 
Rob's  heart  grew  light  and  then  he  said — 

**  There's  nought  like  perseverance." 
Now  when  he  gained  the  plantin'  side, 

And  cleared  the  Muirtoon  entries, 
He  smak'd  his  lips  and  thought  'bout  bread, 

And  yill  fresh  frae  the  gauntrees. 


ROB   TROTTERS   GIMMER. 


59 


Now  at  the  tumin'  o'  the  road 

There  stood  a  house  and  stable ; 
The  drifted  snaw  lay  hard  and  fast 

Up  to  the  very  gable. 
The  yauldest  gimmers  ga'e  a  spring, 

And  left  the  waff  ahint, 
And  climbed  the  riggin'  o'  the  house, 

Afore  T'  -^b  Trotter  kent. 

He  g.v  ver';    Ight  up  !  wi'  a'  i^s  heart 

He  stood  and  cursed  their  folly ; 
Then  after  them  like  fire  he  flew, 

Fast  followed  by  his  collie. 
Within  the  house  wee  Tailor  Will 

Was  thrang  at  his  devotions, 
He  lent  his  ear,  and  lo  !  he  heard 

Unearthly  strange  commotions. 

The  blaain'  o'  the  jumpin'  sheep 

Did  gar  him  stare  wi'  wonder, 
And  when  he  heard  Rob  Trotter  roar, 

His  pulse  struck  'yont  the  hunder. 
He  grasped  his  Peggy  by  the  hand, 

Laigh  on  his  hunkers  bended. 
Then  yelled,  "  my  day  of  grace  is  gone, 

My  pilgrimage  is  ended  ! " 

A  lump  o'  soot  fell  doon  the  lum, 

And  struck  him  on  the  ear, 
He  keekit  round,  then  cried,  "by  jing! 

Auld  Nick  will  soon  be  here  !  " 
He  sprang  wi'  dread  across  the  floor. 

Syne  crawled  aneath  the  table ; 
While  to  the  aumry  Peggy  flew, 

And  seized  the  'tatie  ladle  ! 

-She  swung  it  round  and  round  her  head, 
Then  yelled,  "Auld  Nick !  by  jimney, 

Ye'd  better  gang  the  road  ye  cam', 
And  no  come  doon  our  chimney  ! " 


.      'ft.' 

If  V 


;  M 

■!>•>•■ 
■&... 


■  •«  ■  ■  n  I 


6o 


ROB  trotter's  GIMMER. 


,<!! 
'*••• 


Rob,  half  in  wrath  and  half  in  fun, 

Cried,  "  haud  your  tongue,  ye  limmer," 

Without  ae  thought,  right  doon  the  lum 
He  flang  a  black-faced  gimmer  ! 

Will  jumpit  frae  his  hiding  hole, 

Yet,  'fore  his  bed  he  wan  till. 
Gosh  !  Peggy  raised  her  instrument, 

And  felled  it  on  the  cantle  ! 
When  William  heard  the  death  blow  gi'en, 

He  took  a  dwamish  tremor. 
He  skellied  round,  then  roared,  "  losh  !  Peg^ 

It's  unco  like  a  gimmer  ! " 

Peg  headlang  ran  across  the  floor. 

Then  fell  out  ower  the  cradle, 
And  as  she  couped,  she  screamed,  "  Oh  !  Will^ 

I've  broke  my  'tatie  ladle  !  " 
Will  heezed  her  up,  Rob  op'd  the  door 

And  hurried  up  the  entry. 
He  viewed  the  scene,  then  laughed  and  said, 

"  That  sheep  stow  in  your  pantry." 

The  guidwife  soon  got  o'er  her  swarf — 

Spoke  to  Rob  Trotter  ceevil, 
While  Will  remarked,  "  as  sure  as  death 

I  thought  it  was  the  deevil ! " 
He  shook  his  fist  at  the  dead  sheep, 

Then  said,  "lie  still,  my  hearty," 
And  then  he  turned  to  Peg  and  said, 

"  Next  week  we'll  ha'e  a  party ! " 


\ 


fill. 


THE   WALLACE    MONUMENT. 


The  Wallace    M.onument. 

Inscribed  to  yames  Blacky  Eij. 


fe^TAND  ever!  freedom's  monument, 
^^         Where  freedom  had  its  birth, 
In  honor  of  the  bravest  knight 
That  ever  breathed  on  earth  ! 

In  memory  of  great  Wallace  Wight, 
Whose  daring,  dauntless  heart 

Did  never  crouch  to  foreign  foe, 
Or  Scotland's  cause  desert. 

When  cold  and  chill  was  freedom's  hand. 

And  faint  and  fainter  grew 
Her  flutterinfif  breath,  great  Wallace  rose. 

And  loud  her  trumpet  blew  ! 

The  eagle  from  the  rocky  cliff 
Soared  proudly  to  the  sky; 

Watching  its  flight — *' Soldiers  !  "  he  cried, 
"Freedom  can  never  die  !'' 


^ 


The  droukit  thistle  raised  its  head 
That  erst  hung  pensylie, 

As  if  it  knew  the  deathless  creed — 
"  Who  dares  to  meddle  me  ?  " 

The  Warrior  cried  "  on  to  the  front. 
On,  soldiers,  to  the  field, 

To  fight  for  God  and  liberty. 
To  die  but  never  yield  !  " 

Stand  ever,  freedom's  monument, 
Where  freedom  had  its  birth, 

In  honor  of  the  bravest  knight 
That  ever  breath'd  on  eartli ! 


6i 


-.4! 

.-  *A 


■'■^e^ 


r 


0-^ 


I 


6» 


TO    A.    H.    WINGFIELD,    ES(J. 


1(1    ! 


*l    I 


?'  m 


To      A.     M,     WiNGFIELD,    ES(^, 
j'jAthor  of  the  beautiful  ballady  **  There's  Crape  on  the  Door. 


INGFIELD,  Pm  glad  to  hear  ye  still 
Are  cHml)ing  up  Parnassus  hill ; 
liOsh,  man  !  the  words  ye  clink  wi'  skill — 

How  sweet  they  fa', 
Take  my  advice,  ne'er  quit  the  quill, 

But  screed  awa. 

Though  gowks  may  jeer,  and  gomerils  ban, 
Sing  up  !  sing  blythe  !  my  bonnie  man, 
And  do  the  best  that  e'er  ye  can — 

Ne'er  mind  their  say, 
Rejoice  !  that  genius  guides  your  han', 

And  tunes  the  lay! 

When  I  to  rhyming  did  begin, 
The  fient  a  hair  I'd  on  my  chin ; 
And  when  I  show'd  my  critic  kin 

The  hame-spun  waft. 
They'd  say,  "just  drown  him  in  the  linn, 

He's  clean  gane  daft." 

They'd  laugh  and  smirk  at  my  pretense, 
And  say  "  the  rhyme  was  void  o'  sense, 
Twas  wrong  in  grammar,  mood  and  tense,- 

I  was  a  fool." 
They'd  cry,  "your  harp  hang  on  a  fence, 

And  gang  to  schule." 

Wi'  ilka  word  they  had  some  fau't — 
That  line  was  stolen  from  Pope  or  Watt, 
That  sentance  was  frae  Thompson  gat, 

That  ane  tirae  Hogg: 
They'd  ca'  me  a  cat-witted  brat. 

And  thievish  rogue. 


TO   A.    H.    WINOFIF.LD,    ESQ. 


63 


rd  bite  my  nails,  and  burn  and  blush, 

My  heart's  blood  through  my  veins  would  msh, 

I  couldna  stand  it — like  a  cush 

I  would  retreat, 
Syne,  down  ayont  a  dyke  or  bush, 

I'd  sit  and  greet. 

In  winter  when  the  curlew  flies. 
And  tempests  hurl  athwart  the  skies, 
rd  listen  to  earth's  sounds  and  sighs, 

And  nature's  croon. 
O'er  earthly  clouds  my  soul  would  rise. 

To  heaven  abune ! 

When  floods  cam'  gushing  down  the  hill. 
And  swelling  wide  the  wee  bit  rill, 
As  sure  as  death — I  mind  it  still — 

In  some  lone  nook, 
rd  stand  and  learn  poetic  skill 

Frae  nature's  book. 

A  snow-drop  on  its  bielded  bed 
Would  raise  its  modest  virgin  head, 
My  very  heart  to  it  was  wed 

With  nature's  chain ; 
And  tears  o'  joy  would  o'er  it  shed, 

I  was  sae  fain  ! 

And  when  the  bonnie  spring  would  come, 
When  bees  around  the  flowers  would  bum^ 
And  linties  were  nae  langer  dumb 

The  woods  amang, 
'Twas  there  wi'  them  I  learned  to  hum 

My  wee  bit  sang. 

Beyond  the  birks  where  cowslips  grow, 
And  violets  spring  upon  the  knowe, 
The  Muses  decked  my  youthfu'  brow 

Wi'  roses  fair, 
And  bending  low  I  breathed  a  vow,^ 

Their  joys  to  share. 


Aft 


•»V 


>.^ 


r-x-^ 


y 

i'  A 

r  ■  : 


64 


lO    A.    H.    WING  FIELD,    i;.S(^. 


i 


1  \ 


Thenjn  the  gladsome  summer  days 
rd  wander  'mang  the  heath'ry  braes, 
And  hear  the  lark  sing  nature's  praise 

Far  up  the  sky: 
On  fancy's  wing  my  soul  would  gaze 

On  heaven  high ! 

Nature  would  guide  my  careless  feet 
To  where  the  blackbirds  sang  sae  sweet ; 
For  hours  my  heart  with  joy  would  beat 

To  list  their  lay, 
Unmindful  that  the  stars  did  greet 

The  gloamin'  grey. 

When  darkness  wrapt  the  mountain's  head. 
And  gloom  o'er  glen  and  valley  spread. 
Then  o'er  me  came  an  eerie  dread — 

A  nameless  fear, 
A  soul-commingling  with  the  dead — 

A  heaven  near ! 

Wingfield  !  my  summer  tide's  awa, 
My  autumn  leaf  begins  to  fa', 
And  vulture  death  begins  to  gnaw 

And  hover  near. 
Yet  still  I'll  rant  and  rhyme  for  a' 

Sae  lang's  Fm  here. 

I  hae  nae  wish  to  gather  gear, 
My  muse  is  a'  my  comfort  here, 
My  Pegasus  is  horse  and  meer. 

That  heaven  has  sent, 
And  while  the  beastie  I  can  steer, 

Fll  be  content. 

Though  grief  has  racked  you  to  the  core. 
Take  up  your  harp — sing  as  in  yore  ; 
Ye  still  hae  monie  joys  in  store — 

I  hope  and  pray 
That  crape  may  ne'er  hang  on  your  door 

For  monie  a  day ! 


HOHF.NWINPSOR. 


65 


HOHENWINDSOR. 
Inscribed  to   Jamex    Fraser^   Esq, 

>N  Windsor  when  the  moon  was  high, 
When  every  throat  was  parchec'  and  dry, 
There  rose  to  heaven  a  fearful  cry — 
Of  wild  despair  and  agony. 

For  Windsor  saw  a  dreadful  sight, 
A  thunderbolt  at  dead  of  night 
Did  smash  the  Windsor  pump  outright. 
And  knocked  it  to  eternity. 

Then  rushed  the  matron  and  the  maid, 
Then  Fraser  drew  his  battle  blade, 
And  Bartlett  cried,  "  Go  find  a  spade 

And  dig  my  grave  immediately.  * 

Then  Cameron  raised  a  fearful  wail. 
That  shook  the  very  Sandwich  jail. 
When  Black  put  on  his  coat  of  mail 

To  fight  with  him  mor  *  furiously  ! 

The  combat  deepens  !  blood  and  blows  \ 
The  claret  flies  from  every  nose, 
Far  redder  than  the  reddest  rose 

That  blooms  in  Dougall's  nursery  ! 

Few,  few  of  them  will  see  the  morn. 
Far  better  had  they  ne*er  been  born. 
The  scythe  of  death  reaps  them  like  corn, 
And  grinds  them  in  his  granary ! 


'     A, 


n 


v*^, 


I'*' I 


66 


THE   SCOTT   CENTENARY. 


Weep,  sun,  in  your  triumphal  car. 
May  sackcloth  hang  from  every  star. 
May  earthquakes  rend  the  earth  ajar, 

And  mountains  leap  distractedly. 

The  streets  of  Windsor  reek  with  gore. 
The  pump,  alas  !  has  gone  before ; 
Hang  dismal  grape  on  every  door — 
And  die  in  great  perplexity ! 


m  •  0 


The   S 


COTT     LENTENARY. 


Read  at  the  Banquet y  Russell  House,  Detroit ,  August  15,  187 1. 


\ 


^  HUNDRED  years  have  rolled  away, 
This  morn  brought  in  the  natal  day 
Of  one  whose  name  shall  live  for  aye. 

Beside  the  clear  and  winding  Forth 
Was  born  the  "  Wizard  of  the  North ;" 
The  Muses  circled  round  his  bed, 
And  placed  their  mark  upon  his  head ; 
.  And  nature  sang  a  grand  refrain 
\  As  Genius  claimed  his  wondrous  brain. 
For  every  bird  in  bush  or  brake. 
Beside  the  silv'ry  stream  or  lake. 
Sang  blythly  on  their  leafy  throne, 
\In  honor  of  the  "  Great  Unknown !  < 

,  The  Thistle  raised  its  drooping  head  : 
{   The  lark  forsook  his  heather  bed, 
\  Shook  from  his  wing  the  dew  drop,  moist. 
And  on  the  golden  rioud  rejoic'd ; 


THE  SCOTT  CENTENARY. 

The  classic  Twepri  f^„i 
The  Yarrow  srn'bvh''  l^  "'^  '^>'' 
And  Ettrick  danc'd^,n^°\^"''  '"•^«' 
The  daisies  bv  A-      '^°".    '''"  "'''>'• 
Smiled  sweetlv,^.,"'^.''^'  ^^"'' 
And  wgged  c^  °  '^%  ''^^'her  bells  ; 

^eXr'-^^et^^^^^^^ 
Hewro"eof^^^'°'"!"'^'«^ft'»e 

For  God,  for  right  anthbenyl'^ 

We  see  the  beacon  on  the  hill 
K^e^S:-'' no -Sis  still, 

^hes.ogf„?^-;Xttfard% 
The  dm  of  battle  and  the  cr^      '^^^' 

And  died  o/1^1oren?a:^t' 

He:"o'::;TL«eranr'^°/'-^'^M^^^ 
He  lived  the  land  ^h.''""P''"S  ""^' 

Aiandbelo^roSreat^^^''- 


67 


•*£*■ 


f    ». 
'   ,  <■# 


■<^:;. 


1^: 


^  J 


X' 


68 


A   PRECIOUS   JEWEL. 


There  stood  the  brave  in  weal  or  woe, 
Who  never  crouched  to  foreign  foe — 
Who  stood  in  battle  like  a  rock, 
And  snapped  in  twain  the  tyrant's  yoke ! 

O  !  Scotland,  thou  art  dear  to  me  ! 
Thou  land  of  song  and  chivalry  ! 
There  Scott  and  Burns,  and  many  more, 
Did  pencil  nature  to  the  core — 
There  Wallace  held  the  foe  in  scofn, 
And  Scotland  lives  in  Bannockburn  ! 
And  every  patriot,  far  or  near, 
In  foreign  land,  or  Scotia  dear. 
In  castle  proud,  or  lowly  cot, 
Reveres  the  name  of  Walter  Scott  ! 


i   '^■11  !'  i 


•  •  • 


A  Pi\Ecious   Jewel. 


mi 


'  i 


Inscribed  to   IV,   JVanUsSy  Esq.^  SarniOf  Ont. 

OA,  Pegasus  !  stand  still,  ye  rip, 

Stand  still,  ye  supple,  skitin'  sorra, 
Woa,  stand,  or  I  the  thread  tak'  up — 
The  very  first  thread  o'  my  story. 

A  lassie  lived  wast  at  Mayshiel, 

And  wow,  but  she  was  fair  and  friskie, 

I  here  confess,  I  lo'd  her  weel. 

Though  she  play'd  me  an  unco  pliskie. 

We  had  been  bairnies  at  the  schule ; 

Somehow  we  aye  crap  close  thegether ; 
We  learned  our  lessons  on  ae  stool — 

Where  ane  was,  faith,  ye'd  find  the  other ! 


A    PRECIOUS   JEWEL. 


69 


Whan  schule  was  out  we'd  rin  and  play, 
And  gowans  pu'  sae  blythe  and  cheerie  : 

Wi'  lightsome  step  I'd  climb  the  brae, 
And  cull  the  rowans  for  my  dearie. 

At  the  brae-fit,  she'd  stand  and  watch. 
Her  e'en  wad  glint  wi'  sweet  emotion, 

As  nuts  or  rowans  she  wad  catch. 

While  doon  I'd  look  wi'  pure  devotion ! 

Twice  twenty  years  since  that  ha'e  gane ; 

Though  to  the  verge  o'  life  I'm  tap'rin', 
Yet  still  I  see  her  smile  fu'  fain, 

And  kep  the  rowans  in  her  apron  ! 

I  yet  can  see  her  dimpled  cheek, 
Her  bonnie  curls  waving  free. 

Aft  in  my  dreams  I  hear  her  speak. 
And  see  her  laugh  wi'  pawkie  glee  ! 

How  aft  we'd  sit  doon  i'  the  dell. 

And  twine  and  shape  the  rushes  green, 

My  rushy-cap,  I  needna  tell, 

Was  fashion'd  aye  for  l)onnie  Jean. 

In  har'st,  we  laid  aside  our  book. 

And  'hint  the  shearers  we  wad  pingle, 

To  Jeanie,  in  ayont  the  stock, 

I'd  sleely  hand  my  wee  bit  single. 

I'd  tak'  her  hand  when  nae  ane  saw. 
Then  she  wad  blush  an'  look  amiss ; 

Her  lips  I  durst  nae  pree  ava — 

The  very  thought  was  perfect  bliss  ! 

We  lo'ed  wi'  perfect  love  divine — 
Nature  designed  us  for  ilk  other ; 

I'm  sure  this  day  she  wad  be  mine, 
If  death  had  ca'd  away  her  mother. 


Hi 

H 


-  •'M 

•  .#• 

i       > 


Hi-- 


«r 


>/ 


Si 

llli 


h  ^ 


I   I 


!  i 


ill 


70 


A    PRECIOUS   JEWEL. 


For  monie  a  year  I  courted  Jean, 
And  aft  she  vow'd  to  be  my  ain ; 

The  weddin'-day  was  set  I  ween, 

When  faith,  her  love  began  to  wane. 

Ae  night  her  faither  look'd  sae  sour. 
Her  mother  skelHed  wi'  a'e  e'e, 

And  syne  she  said  :  "  Tarn,  ye  are  poor, 
Ye'd  better  let  our  Jean  a-be." 

Quo  I,  "  Guidwife,"  as  up  I  rose, 

"  I  lo'e  your  daughter  true  as  steel." 

But  faith,  she  turned  up  her  nose, 
And  faith,  I  turned  upon  my  heel. 

When  at  the  door  I  ga'e  a  keek, 

A  waesome  keek  out  o'er  my  shouther, 

I  saw  a  tear  on  Jeanie's  cheek. 

And  ower  my  cheek  there  ran  another. 

My  Jean  I  never  saw  nae  mair — 
She  slighted  me  for  lack  o'  siller ; 

In  twa  short  weeks  I  do  declare. 
My  lass  got  buckled  to  the  Miller. 

For  monie  a  weary  night  and  day 

I  groaned  and  yattered  'gainst  my  fate, 

But  now,  at  length,  I'm  glad  to  say, 
I'm  somewhat  better  at  this  date. 

Now  ilka  lad  tak'  my  advice — 

Whene'er  your  lass  gets  out  o'  tune, 

Just  let  her  gang — though  e'er  sae  nice, 
Aye  strive  to  keep  your  heart  abune. 

Be  like  the  man  that  had  a  kist. 

And  when  he  loosen'd  aff  the  rope 

He  raised  the  lid — his  all  he  missed, 
But  found  the  precious  jewel — Hope  1 


TOO  MUCH  libp:rty. 


71 


Too     M.UCH    LlBEF^TY. 

Inscribed  to  yames  Andenon^  Esq. 


HE  guidwife  ga'e  us  screed  on  screed, 
\\-\  Syne  went  to  where  the  sea-maws  breed, 
Now  ilka  thing's  gane  heels  o'er  head ; 
We'd  better  a'  be  lying  dead. 

Afore  she  reaches  liame. 

The  sow  runs  squeelin'  round  the  yard. 
The  dog  has  e'en  lost  a'  regard ; 
Our  Jean  sits  bletherin'  wi'  the  Laird, 
And  geeks  at  his  lang  tousie  beard, 
Her  mither's  no  at  hame. 

Whene'er  the  maut  got  'bune  the  meal. 
The  sight  o'  her  wad  gar  us  squeel. 
Like  rattans  into  holes  we'd  steal, 
Guid  faith  !  we'd  sooner  face  the  de'il — 
Than  her  wha's  comin'  hame. 

There's  nane  now  scarts  the  parritch  pat. 
The  soot  has  got  among  the  saut, 
The  Laird  has  drank  up  a'  the  maut, 
The  Doctor  is  as  blind's  a  bat — 

The  guidwife's  no  at  hame. 

We'll  a'  be  forced  to  join  the  total, 
The  cork  will  soon  be  in  the  bottle. 
The  press-key  placed  in  the  kist  shottle ; 
We'll  ha'e  to  smoke  fear's  very  dottle — 

When  our  guidwife  comes  hame. 


•J^'.,—*-! 


^  ■ 
&  "1 


•*^ 


'"Aft": 

•i, 


72 


A   PRECIOUS   JEWEJ,. 


^}h 


V   I 


r!i 


!  it  I 


■■111 


The  soap  lies  soakin'  in  the  plate, 
We've  hounded  care  out  at  the  gate, 
We've  lost  the  very  day  and  date, 
We  tumble  headlang  aff  the  sate, 

When  our  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

At  night,  like  owls,  the  lasses  whup. 
Next  morn  ye  canna  rouse  them  up ; 
They've  broken  ashet,  plate  and  cup. 
We'll  soon  ha'e  neither  bite  or  sup ; 
At  times  we  ^vish  her  hame. 

Our  Jocks,  our  Peters  and  our  Wills, 
Just  a'  gang  roaring  round  like  bulls. 
And  kicking  chairs  out  o'er  the  stools, 
And  cracking  ane  another's  skulls, 

When  our  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

Wee  Tam  sits  glunching  in  the  nook, 
With  face  and  hands  as  black's  the  crook, 
He  glooms  e'en  at  the  Bible-book, 
And  on  his  lessons  winna  look, 

When  the  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

When  once  her  foot's  o'er  the  door  stane, 
A'  our  excuses  will  be  vain, 
Though  tears  come  dashing  down  like  rain, 
Her  antidote  will  find  the  bane — 

See  there  !  she's  coming  hame. 

She's  hame,  and  she  has  felled  the  soo, 
She's  flung  the  dog  out  o'er  the  coo. 
She's  mauled  us  till  we're  black  and  blue — 
Transgression's  bitter  cud  we  chew 

Since  our  guidwife  cam'  hame. 


A   WORD   TO   THE   CANADIAN    WEEVIL. 


73 


She's  bearded  discord  in  its  lair, 
The  Laird  and  Jean  kicked  down  the  stair, 
Now  Justice  sits  high  on  his  chair, 
And  Virtue  cries  to  Vice  "  beware !  " 
Our  guidwife's  now  at  hame.. 

MORAL. 

The  knave  'bout  Uberty  may  shout, 
The  fool  'bout  freedom  rave  and  rout, 
Miss  Liberty  is  grand  nae  doubt. 

When  well  we  use  her. 
But  then,  ye  ken,  the  perverse  nowt 

Do  aft  abuse  her ! 


•  •  • 


A  WoBp  TO  THE    Canadian  Weevil, 


Inscribed  to  R.  McKenzie  Esq.^  Sarnia,   Ont. 


E  graceless  wheat-destroying  weevil. 

Rampageous  as  the  very  devil, 

'^  Can  ony  tongue  be  to  you  civil ; 

By  day  or  night. 

On  waving  crops  ye  feast  and  revel, 

Afore  our  sight. 

A'  that  we  do,  a'  that  we  say — 

Though  sinners  swear  and  christians  pray. 

Yet  still  ye  dinna  mind  a  strae. 

Ye  tak  your  meal ; 
Ye  just  gang  pouncing  on  your  prey. 

And  fill  your  creel. 


1  w 


/ 


■•■>• 


^i 


■  '     nil 


1 


iHiibiii 


74 


A   WORD   fO   THE    CANADIAN    WEEVIL. 


t 


Pi 


tv\ 


Ml 


»•:  . 


Dame  Nature  is  a  jade  most  fickle, 
When  crops  look  as  they'd  take  the  sickle, 
Ye  hool  the  heart  o'  ilka  picklj 

Just  in  a  night, 
And  leave  the  faners  but  a  rickle — 

O'  chaff  to  dight. 

Misquitos,  and  sic  like  sma'  fry,  • 

Their  ways  and  haunts  we  can  espy, 
Mair  mense  than  you,  though  unco  sly. 

We  can  them  smash. 
And  soon  make  them  at  death's  door  lie 

Wi'  little  fash. 

But  you,  ye  brutes  !  to  wisest  men 
Ye  are  a  thought  beyond  their  ken, 
Where  ye  come  frae,  the  how  and  when 

To  fill  your  kites, 
E'en  Hind  has  failed  a  hand  to  len' 

To  set  to  rights. 

Ane  e'en  would  think  that  Dr.  Gill, 
Who  tugs  our  hearts  and  reins  wi'  skill, 
Would  'pound  a  posset  or  a  pill, 

To  gar  them  scour, 
Like  Johnnie  Cope  frae  ^"'•slie  hill. 

Within  the  hour. 

Stook  upon  stooks  sent  to  the  midden, 
Full  monie  a  heart  wi'  grief  ye  sadden, 
Ye  spoilt  Peg  Dale's  concocted  weddin' 

Wi'  Robbie  Rue, 
Wha  hadna  gear  to  buy  providin', 

And  a'  for -you. 

There's  Tammie  Turnip,  autumn  past, 
A  sheep's  e'e  at  Meg  Colwort  cast. 
But  you,  ye  souls,  cam'  like  a  blast 

Upon  his  grain : 
He  nailed  an  oath  to  the  bed-post, 
To  sleep  his  lane. 


I'   > 


41 


A    WORD   TO   THE    CANADIAN    WEKVIL. 


75 


A  gown  o'  silk  Kate  Kailrunt  wanted, 
She  thought  how  brawly  she  could  flaunt  it, 
She  asked  her  man  if  he  wad  grant  it — 

He  gave  a  roar, 
Then  heels  o'er  head  the  poor  man  canted 

And  ne'er  spak'  more. 

There's  our  auld  neighbor  Sandy  Bran, 
A  better  chield  life  ne'er  began, 
From  empty  barns  headlang  ran, 

Plung'd  through  a  swamp  ; 
Next  morn  was  found  cauld,  stiff  and  wan, 
'Strung  on  a  stump. 

A  slee  auld  carl  was  (ieordie  Jack, 
Ae  e'en  sax  cradlers  on  did  tak'. 
Next  morn  he  wasna  worth  a  plack  ; 

Wi'  down  cast  main 
He  made  a  bullet  straight  play  whack, 

Out  through  his  brain  ! 

When  Tam,  the  tailor,  'gan  to  shear, 
.  He  keekit  in  to  a  wheat's  ear. 
He  gaped  !  he  stagger'd  !  then  did  steer 

With  reckless  canter ; 
Some  arsenic  grains  dashed  in  his  beer, 

Tam  died  instanter ! 

I  had  an  honest,  frugal  aunty, 
Wha  wi'  her  man  lived  in  a  shanty ; 
Ae  night  she  was  fu'  weel  and  canty  : 

Woe's  me,  alack ! 
Next  morn  her  spirit  took  a  j auntie, 

And  ne'er  cam'  back  ! 

Such  cases  I  might  multiply. 

All  caused  by  that  infernal  fly. 

How  men,  in  scores,  leap  up  sky  high, 

Wi'  fear  and  fright. 
And  women  groan,  and  faint,  and  cry 

At  dead  o'  night. 


m 


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am* 


'  .s  S 


Hi  > 


ii'i 


76 


A    WORD   TO   THE    CANADIAN    WEEVIL. 


U'.    : 


IM    I 


This  business,  sirs,  must  be  corrected, 
Losh  me  !  the  very  nout's  infected  ; 
At  stake  and  sta'  they  stand  neglected, 

And  hing  their  head. 
E'en  me,  mysel',  I'm  sair  dejected 

And  near  hand  dead  ! 

Ye  men  o'  state  !  be  up,  be  doin', 
The  cud  o'  strife  no  more  be  chewin', 
No  more  intrig'in'  plots  be  brewin' ; 

Wi'  ae  accord 
Rise  up !  and  save  us  a'  from  ruin. 

By  fire  or  sword. 

Ye  cabinet  men  !  lay  heads  thegether, 
Bethink  no  more  your  nests  to  feather. 
Stop  for  a  space  your  dinsome  blether, 

I  speak  ye  civil. 
Or  if  ye  roar,  roar  a'  thegether. 

And  scare  the  weevil ! 

Let  John  McDonald  seek  them  out, 
Let  Sandfield  catch  them  by  the  cloot, 
And  a'  the  members  roar  and  shout 

Wi'  bellows  lungs, 
The  very  de'il  himself  you'd  rout. 

To  list  your  tongues. 

ril  wager  my  auld  bonnet  blue, 
A  stot,  a  stirk,  and  forrow  coo. 
If  ye  just  raise  ae  wild  halloo 

'Mang  the  wheat  crap, 
The  brutes  will  vanish  like  the  dew. 

And  ne'er  come  back  ! 


THE   CAT   ANEATH    THK   CHAIR. 


77 


The    Cat    Aneath   the    Chai!\. 


I^E  night  quo'  Jock  unto  his  wife  "atweel 
ril  tak'  a  dander  out  ovver  to  Mayshiel, 
To  speir  if  Will  and  a'  the  folk  are  weel." 

^  Quo'  Bess,  "  1  wish  ye'd  stay  wi'  me  to  crack, 

But  if  ye  gang,  I  hope  ye'll  hurry  back ; 

It's  unco  eerie  when  the  stars  appear. 

To  sit  my  lane  and  no  ae  neighbour  near." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,"  quo'  Jock,  "  the  guid  preserve  us  ! 

What's  this  o't  now,  losh  !  Bess,  ha'e  ye  got  nervous  ? 

I'm  e'en  at  my  wit's  end  I  maun  to  confess. 

To  find  a  cure  to  conquer  your  distress, 

The  buck-bean  plant,  the  bark  frae  willow  trees, 

Might  counteract  and  banish  your  disease; 

The  buck-beans,  my  auld  grannie  aft  she  blessed  them. 

They  toned  her  nerves  and  strengthen'd  up  her  system  ! 

Sae  if  ye  like,  I'll  rin  wi'  willing  stride 

And  pu'  that  herbage  frae  the  water  side." 

"  Man,  Jock,"  quo'  Bess,  "for  guidsake  stop  your  clavers, 

It  fairly  scunners  me  to  hear  your  havers  ! 

Ye're  growin'  wise,  losh,  Jock  !  ye're  byous  clever 

I  sair  misdoubt  ye'll  no  be  a  lang  liver." 

At  this  Jock  leugh,  he  ran  to  get  his  rung. 

But  was  arrested  by  the  guid  wife's  tongue ; 

Quo'  she,  "  the  like  I  ne'er  saw  a'  my  days  ! 

Will  ye  gang  that  way  ?  gang  and  change  your  claes, 

Gae  wash  your  face,  and  gi'e  your  hair  a  kame, 

And  e'en  look  purpose  like  when  ye're  frae  hame, 

See  to  your  hair !  I  never  saw  the  like, 

Frae  tap  to  tae  ye're  just  a  touzy  tyke ; 

Man     if  ye  saw  yersel'  ye'd  see  a  sight 

Wad  mak'  ye  swarf  wi'  downright  fear  and  fright ! 


•  it. 

v., 


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y     > 


« 


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1 

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1 

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1 

lli'  ' 

'"1! 


78 


THE   CAT    ANKATH    TIIK   CHArR. 


Look  at  your  sleeve,  your  elbow  through  it  keeks, 

And  guide  us  a',  Oh  !  what  a  pair  o'  breeks  ! 

As  for  your  waist-coat  and  your  very  shirt, 

I  do  declare  they're  just  engrained  wi'  dirt ! 

Sax  years  by-gane  ye  was  as  clean's  a  preen, 

A  look  o'  you  was  pleasing  to  the  een. 

My  certy !  sic  a  change  has  now  owerta'en  ye 

I  think  black  burning  shame  to  look  upon  ye ! 

I  weel  I  wat  whan  ye  to  me  cam'  courtin', 

Ye  look'd  a  man  wi'  independent  fortune ; 

Your  hair  lay  sleek,  your  bannet  stood  a-jee, 

Your  ribbon-ends  hung  gracefu'  'bout  your  knee. 

Ye  were  the  wale — the  pick  o'  a'  the  fallows. 

Ye  now  look  ripe  and  ready  for  the  gallows  ! 

A  kind  o'  hang-dog  look  ye  ha'e  about  ye. 

That  mak's  my  very  soul  at  times  mis-doubt  ye  ; 

Were  ye  dook'd  in  the  burn,  I  ha'e  my  doubts 

The  water  soon  wad  poison  a'  the  trouts  ; 

Get  out  my  sight !  redd  up  yersel',  be  quick, 

Or  thance  I'll  brain  ye  wi'  the  parritch  stick  ! " 

"Now  Bess,"  quo'  Jock,  "when  first  I  met  wi'  you, 

Butter,  I'm  sure,  wad  no  melt  in  your  mou ; 

'Twas  then  I  little  dreamed  that  ye  could  flyte, 

Yet  still  I  trow  your  bark's  worse  than  your  bite." 

With  these  remarks,  forthwith  a  cannie  tear 

Did  on  the  eyelash  o'  his  wife  appear, 

Awhile  it  glisten'd,  then  sae  mild  and  meek. 

It  fell  and  trickled  o'er  her  rosy  cheek ; 

Now  Jock  gaed  up  and  clasped  her  to  his  bosom. 

Then  sair  she  rued  that  she  did  sae  abuse  him  ; 

Now  love  and  joy  and  pure  domestic  bliss. 

Were  centered  a'  in  ae  lang  rousin'  kiss. 

And  thus  she  spoke,  "  my  words  no  tak'  to  heart. 

Through  fire  and  water,  Jock,  I'll  tak'  your  part, 

I  wadna  say  an  unkind  word  unto  ye. 

If  wi'  my  heart  and  soul  I  didna  lo'e  ye." 

Quo'  Jock,  "  my  dear,  your  council  aye  I  prized." 

Then  aff  he  funked  to  do  as  was  advised ; 


4. 


THK    CAT   ANEATH    THK   CHAIR. 


79 


He  soon  gat  ready — when  the  twasome  parted, 
They  looked  sae  thowless  and  maist  l)roken  hearted  ! 
But  truth  compels  me  here  to  write     maintain 
That  'fore  he  left  he  kissed  his  wife  aj;ain. 

Jock's  on  the  road ;  the  reader  now  may  learn 
That  Jock's  guidwife  is  mother  o'  a  bairn, 
They  trowed  o'  lasses  fient  a  ane  wns  wiser, 
Guidfaith  !  the  twa  did  fairly  idolize  her ; 
Wi'  mickle  care  their  wee  bit  pet  they  hanTd — 
She  was  their  first,  sae  they  were  baith  new  fangl'd  ; 
As  sure's  I  breathe,  it's  near  hand  s«.'t  me  crazy 
To  list  the  uncos  o'  their  wee  bit  Daisy ! 

Jock  was  a  cannie,  careless,  drudging  slunk, 
But  Bess  was  fou  o'  smeddum  and  o'  spunk ; 
She'd  wash  and  synd,  and  mak'  and  mend,  and  scour ; 
Perfection  might  ha'e  dinner'd  on  her  floor ; 
She  had  a  job  to  tend  and  keep  Jock  right, 
The  loon  somehow  wad  no  stay  in  at  night ; 
And  aft  she  wished,  like  monie  a  gimin'  damt^ 
He'd  break  his  leg  and  then  he'd  stay  at  hame ! 
Then  Mirth  wad  fill  her  heart  up  to  the  hilts, 
When  picturing  Jock  hung  on  a  pair  o'  stilts ; 
Then  Pity  would  arise  as  Grief  drew  near. 
Then  Hope  would  smile  and  wipe  the  pearly  tear. 

Now  reader,  if  you  please,  we'll  gang  wi'  Jock 
And  introduce  ye  to  the  Mayshiel  folk. 
"  Whisht !  bairns  whisht,  do  stop  that  deavin'  roar, 
I  hear  a  rap — there's  some  ane  at  the  door, 
As  sure's  I  breathe,  I'll  gie  my  highest  aith, 
I  canna  hear  a  word  aboon  my  breath, 
Rin  !  Tammie,  rin,  and  dinna  snicker  mair. 
And  pu'  the  bolt  and  see  wha's  standin'  there. 
Is  that  you  Jock  ?  guid  save  us,  Jock,  come  in, 
Guidwife,  hang  up  John's  bonnet  on  the  pin ; 
How  are  ye  man,  and  how  is  it  a'  wi*  ye  ? 
As  sure  as  death  Pm  unco  glad  to  see  ye  ! 
I  haena  seen  your  face  for  monie  a  day, 
Man  !  ye're  as  welcome  as  the  flow'rs  o'  May, 


*v, 


'^n^* 


^^m 


'■^^ 


So 


THE   CAT   ANEATH    THE   CHAIR. 


11   ■* 


Mi: 


Come,  draw  your  chair  up  to  the  ingle  cheek; 

Guidwife,  just  hang  the  kettle  on  the  cleek  : 

Now  bairns,  awa  to  bed — ye  noisy  clips — 

And  if  I  hear  ae  word  frae  out  your  lips, 

Ye'll  get  a  something  or  I'm  sair  mista'en, 

Will  mak'  your  very  banes  roar  out  wi'  pain  !  " 

Wi'  this  the  bairnies  creepit  ben  the  house; 

Soon  ower  their  glass  baith  Jock  and  Will  sat  crouse, 

And  Will's  guidwife  sat  cosy  by  the  ingle. 

And  at  her  stockin'  she  would  crack  and  pingle, 

Speir'd  if  Jock's  wife  had  now  gat  weel  again, 

And  if  their  Daisy  yet  could  gang  her  lane? 

Jock  claw'd  his  head,  awhile  he  humm'd  and  hackit. 

Then  said,  "my  wife's  as  weel's  can  be  expeckit, 

And  our  bit  lass  has  now  begun  to  toddle, 

And  o'  her  minnie  just  the  very  model ; 

She's  unco  sair  been  pester'd  wi'  her  gums. 

And  a'  the  day  bite  biteing  at  her  thum's. 

She's  tholed  it  weel,  I'm  glad  to  say  that  noo, 

Twa  teeth,  like  lances  sharp,  are  keekin'  through, 

Hech  me  !  I  trowed  that  death  awa  wad  ta'en  her, 

Whan  the  guidwife  at  first  began  to  wean  her. 

She  took  the  croup,  and  syne  the  scarlet  fever, 

The  measles,  faith !  I  thought  they'd  never  leave  her, 

The  measles  !  aft  I've  wished  they  were  in  Sodom, 

They  looked  as  if  they  wad  ha'e  dressed  her  drodum ! 

What  next  she'll  tak'  is  mair  than  I  can  mention, 

For  that  is  something  'bune  my  comprehension ! 

Whate'er  it  is,  we'll  do  our  best  to  maister 

Wi'  drug  and  poultice,  and  wi'  stickin'  plaster." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  quo'  Will,  "  the  ills  o'  life  are  monie. 

We  had  an  unco  time  wi'  our  wee  Johnie, 

He  took  a  kind  o'  dwam  and  syne  a  quiver, 

Guidfaith  !  we  thought  we'd  loose  him  a'  thegethei ! 

We  set  to  wark,  we  rubbed  him  wi'  goose  greese, 

I  do  declare  that  soon  did  gie  him  ease ; 

And  now-a-days  the  sumph  believes  our  blethers, 

And  soon  expects  to  raise  a  crap  o'  feathers ! " 


il 

ii! 


i!  i'li:  I 


A 

4 


THE    CAT   ANEATH   THE    CHAIR. 


8i 


Wi'  this  Jock  ga'e  the  table  sic  a  bang, 

He  kicked,  he  roared  and  laughed  baith  loud  and  lang, 

And  Will's  guidwife  glower'd  upward  frae  her  stockin', 

Then  said,  "  guidman,  I  dinna  like  sic  jokin', 

Sic  havers  !  man,  I'm  sair  inclined  to  doubt  it, 

That  mickle  guid  ye  winna  see  come  out  o't." 

"  Hoot  toot,"  quo'  Jock,  "  I'm  unco  sure,  indeed, 

He  wadna  vvrang  a  hair  on  Johnie's  head ! 

He's  his  ain  flesh  and  blood  in  art  and  part, 

I'm  unco  sure  the  bairn  lies  near  his  heart." 

Wi'  this  the  guidman  handed  Meg  a  glass, 

And  soon  a  smile  cam'  jinkin'  on  her  face ; 

The  riseing  laugh  she  did  her  best  to  burkit. 

As  round  the  corners  o'  her  mouth  it  lurkit ; 

Now  as  she  listen'd  to  the  men  folks  yaff, 

She  burstit  out  wi'  ae  lang  glorious  laugh ! 

She  drap'd  her  wires  and  keek'd  up  in  their  faces. 

And  then  she  roared,  ''  ye're  just  twa  bletherin'  asses  ! " 

At  times  she  held  her  sides,  and  'tween  her  breath 

She'd  cry,  "O  !  stop,  or  else  ye'll  be  my  death  !  " 

And  then  she'd  rise  and  lean  against  the  wa'. 

And  beck  and  bow  and  vent  the  loud  gafifaw. 

At  length  she  cried  "  guid  guide  us  !  did  ye  ever  ! " 

Then  flung  aside  her  stockin'  a'  thegether. 

Care's  lugs  were  cufled,  nae  hole  had  he  to  hide  in, 

Sae  aff  he  sulk'd,  and  Joy  was  left  presidin'. 

Now  after  sunshine  storms  will  aft  arise, 
And  lash  the  placid  ocean  to  the  skies, 
And  after  mirth  aft  comes  the  bitter  tear. 
And  after  battles  heroes  quail  wi'  fear  ! 

As  Jock  was  sittin'  nickerin'  in  his  chair. 
Terror  and  horror  seized  him  by  the  hair  ! 
His  eyes  rolled  round,  his  nether  lip  did  quiver, 
His  cheek  grew  wan,  his  very  limbs  did  shiver. 
At  last  he  yelled,  "  Oh  !  Will,  the  fiend  infernal 
Has  somehow  cruppin'  in  to  my  internal ! 
I  ne'er  took  sic  a  turn  in  a'  my  life, 
Guid  save  us,  Will,  Oh  !  send  for  Bess,  my  wife." 


^  ■ 


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82 


THE   CAT   ANEATH    THE   CHAIR. 


Will  roars,  "Oh!  Meg,  rin,  flee  awa  my  bairn, 

Ben  to  the  fire  and  bring  a  red-het  aim ; 

Oh  !  haste,  be  quick — I'll  say  the  ten  commands. 

Oh  !  Jock,  man,  dinna  dee  amang  our  hands. 

Where  are  ye  now,  man  Jock,  I  at  ye  speer 

Gif  ye  are  gane,  or  gif  ye  yet  are  here, 

Come  !  speak  man,  Jock,  and  tell  us  what*s  amiss  ?  " 

"I'm  on  the  tap,"  quo'  Jock,  "o'  great  distress, 

I  feel  as  if  ten  cats  were  doon  my  thrapple, 

I'm  gaun  quick,  Nick  has  me  in  his  grapple  ! 

A  finger  post  stands  'fore  me  like  a  wraith, 

Which  p  )ints  into  the  very  jaws  o'  death  !  " 

Oh  !  Jo  k,"  roared  Will,  "  Oh  !  dinna  dee  sae  soon, 

Here  c  )mes  the  airn,  Meg  !  Meg  !  pull  afl"  his  shoon 

And  cl;  p  it  to  his  feet,  woes  me,  guidwife, 

The  ain^  het  might  bring  him  back  to  life." 

Doon  on  the  floor  wi'  speed  the  guidwife  crap, 

When  fuff !  a  cat  play'd  wallop  in  her  lap. 

She  gave  a  loup,  then  cried,  "losh!  I  declare. 

That  cat,  Oh  !  Jock,  sprang  out  frae  'neath  your  chair; 

Oh  !  tell  us  man  if  to  the  quick  he's  scratched  ye. 

Or  if  the  deevlish  brute's  somehow's  bewitched  ye !  " 

"  Deil  tak'  the  wretch,"  roared  Jock  "  I'd  no  be  sweer 

To  open  up  his  throat  frae  ear  to  ear  ! 

The  purrin'  brute  !  may  Nick  do  nought  but  singe  him, 

And  pokers  het  in  his  vile  carcass  plunge  them ! 

He's  gi'en  me  sic  a  fright,  I'm  bound  to  say, 

I'll  ne'er  get  ower  it  to  my  deein'  day  !  " 

^'  Poor  brute,"  quo'  Will,  "  he  was  ane  o'  the  party, 

And  did  his  best  to  croon  ?  :d  to  divert  ye." 

^'  Divert  me,"  quo'  Jock, —  Jock  said  what  I'll  no  name, 

He  snatch'd  his  bannet,  started  for  his  hame  ; 

And  since  that  night,  Jock  never  wander'd  mair. 

He  ne'er  forgot  the  cat  aneath  the  chair  ! 

And  aye  sin'  syne  when  fools  mis-uses  life 

And  winna  stay  at  hame  aside  their  wife. 

But  spend  the  gear  that  should  ha'e  boilt  the  pat. 

The  wives  will  say,  "  I  hope  they'll  hear  the  cat ! " 


!       '  ! 


iIIIl 


TAM    AND   TIB. 


83 


m 


M 


if*- 


him, 


Jam  and  Tib  ;   or,  Cause  and  Effect, 


Inscribed  to  Jama  JV.   Weir  Esq. 


™  AM  and  Tib  sat  by  the  fire, 
^(j-^         And  they  began  a  crackin', 

Quo'  she,  "guidman,  I  mind  the  day, 

I  could  rin  hke  a  mawkin.' 
But  now  I'm  getting  auld  and  stiff, 

And  unco  sair  forgesket, 
I  muckle  doubt  the  hand  o'  death 
Is  fum'Hn'  'bout  my  brisket ! 

"  Last  night  I  had  a  fearfii'  dream. 

My  very  blood  seemed  ft-ozen, 
I  thought  Auld  Nick,  on  a  black  horse 

Cam  boundin'  through  the  losin  I 
He  had  a  night-cowl  on  his  croou, 

Through  it  twa  horns  ascended ; 
A.  cloak  he  had  o'  bumbazine. 

Which  to  his  hoofs  descended. 

"  His  tail  was  arched  like  the  half  moon, 

And  which  stuck  through  his  cloakin'. 
And  Tam,  as  fars  I  could  perceive, 

'Twas  langer  than  your  stockin'. 
His  nose  was  flat,  his  chin  was  sma', 

His  lips  stuck  out  between  them, 
Ye'd  sworn  his  lugs  were  asses'  lugs, 

Guidman  !  if  ye  had  seen  them. 


:4    ..  -' 


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I!>i! 


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it 


ii 


It! 


i  '!  I 


i  in ;  ■  '■ 


in"- 

111' 


llliiiiiii 


84 


TAM    AND   TIB. 


a 


His  face  was  just  as  black's  the  crook, 

His  een  were  halflins  steekit, 
And  a'  the  hair  aboot  his  beard 

Was  scorched  and  brimstone  smeekit. 
His  shoulder  blades  niaist  touched  his  jaws, 

His  back  was  bent  maist  double, 
He  looked  as  if  he  had  come  through 

A  whirlwind  o'  trouble. 

**  And  sic  a  pair  o'  specks  he  wore, 

Wi'  him  ye  wadna  swapit, 
Their  wires  were  tied  wi'  woolen  threads. 

And  baith  their  een  were  crackit. 
Tam,  he  seemed  waft'  and  broken  doon, 

Condemned  and  disconcerted, 
Yet  still  he  tried  his  best  to  show 

He  wasna  broken  hearted. 

"  I  trowed  his  heart  was  worrit  out 

Wi'  planin'  vile  dissensions. 
He  yet  seemed  gash  enough  to  coup 

Cart-loads  o'  guid  intentions. 
A  glimmer  o'  a  thought  arose, 

Which  through  my  harn-pan  creepit, 
That  it  was  queer  how  a'  our  crimes 

Should  on  Nick's  back  be  heapit. 

*'  We  dread  I  keek.t  in  his  face, 

Syne  speared  wha  next  he  wanted  ? 
He  gae  a  spring  frae  aft"  his  horse. 

Then  heels-o'er-head  he  canted  ! 
He  bounced  and  bounded  like  a  ba', 

Kists,  chairs  ?xid  stools  he  coupit, 
He  ga'e  a  roar,  syne  wi*  a  bang 

Right  on  my  breast  he  loupit ! 

"  *  For  mercy's  sake,'  I  cried,  'get  aff,' 

And  syne  I  did  implore  him, 
But  ere  I  wist  on  my  breast-bane, 

He  danced  up  Tullochgorum  ! 


■ir 


11'- 


TAM   AND   TIB. 


8S 


His  hoofs  played  clatter  on  my  banes, 
His  tail  he  lashed  and  flouted, 

And  in  my  lugs  unearthly  sounds 
And  mockriff  laughs  he  shouted. 

"  Man  !  how  he  reeled  and  how  he  flang 

Wi'  perfect  exhultation, 
Till  ilka  pore  was  rinnin'  out 

Wi'  brimstone  perspiration ! 
Out  frae  his  mouth  shot  bolts  o'  fire, 

That  gar'd  me  geek  wi'  wonder, 
And  when  he  shut  his  lantern  jaws, 

They  crackit  like  the  thunder ! 

"  At  last  he  sprang  upon  his  horse, 

Then  cried,  '  guidwife,  instanter 
Loup  on  a-hint,  and  you  and  I 

This  night  we'll  ha'e  a  canter  !  ' 
Against  my  will  he  hauled  me  up, 

Tarn  !  how  my  heart  gaed  thumpin' 
When  Auld  Nick's  horse  began  to  snort, 

And  syne  began  a-jumpin'. 

"  We  flew  o'er  hill,  we  flew  o'er  dale ; 

Auld  Satan  wasna  idle, 
He  cracked  his  whip,  he  spured  and  spured, 

And  ruggit  at  the  bridle. 
Then  through  amang  th'j  moons  and  stars 

We  rode  like  desperation. 
At  last  we  nimbly  lighted  doon 

Upon  a  constellation ! 

"  We  stood  upon  a  mighty  clift", 

Aside  a  raging  river, 
Then  Satan  roared  and  said,  '  guidwife. 

Ye  now  are  mine  forever.' 
I  cried  '  ye  loon,  stand  back  !  stand  back  ! 

I  scunner  at  your  caperin', 
Losh  guide  us  a',  he  made  a  grab 

And  catched  me  by  the  apron. 


4     -> 


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86 


TAM    AND   TIB. 


h  ; '  ,t 


"  My  blood  boiled  up,  and  when  I  yelled 

Auld  Nick  was  fair  confounded ; 
I  cam'  a  yerk  upon  his  claws, 

And  frae  his  presence  bounded  ! 
I  flew  and  flew,  and  better  flew 

Back  to  the  earth  did  glide,  man, 
And  when  I  woke,  losh,  guide  us.  Tarn, 

I  e'en  lay  by  your  side,  man  ! 

"  I'm  unco  sure  that  these  are  signs 

That  I  maun  leave  ye  soon,  man, 
Yet  'fore  I'm  earthed,  I'd  like  to  ken 

Wha  ye'll  get  in  my  shoon,  man  ?" 
Tam  opened  up  his  auld  tin  mull. 

And  he  began  a  snuflin', 
And  then  he  said,  "  now,  Tib,  your  lugs 

Do  weel  deserve  a  cuflin'. 

"  We  hae  kent  ane  another  lang, 

We're  unco  weel  acquainted  ; 
And  if  ye  dee,  I'm  bound  to  say 

Mair  wives  will  ne'er  be  wanted  ! 
Yet  still  ye  dinna  look  amiss, 

Ye're  fresh  as  ony  daisy ; 
That  unco  drgam  I  ha'e  nae  doubt 

Has  near-hand  set  ye  crazy. 

"  Ne'er  fash  your  thumb  aboot  Auld  Nick  ; 

Some  say  he's  dead  and  chestit. 
E'en  Hairy  Beecher  o'  New  York, 

Contends  he  ne'er  existit. 
I  ha'e  a  kind  o'  mithicr.wit. 

Though  ne'er  was  a  great  scholar. 
Yet  I  ha'e  leaniv^d  to  prize  twa  laws — 

The  natural  and  the  moral. 

**  Last  night  ye  ken  was  hogmanay, 

Ye  loaded  sair  your  crappin. 
That  was  the  cause,  and  the  effect 

Was  unco  sure  to  happin. 


old 

Tam 

ten,! 

natur 

fairie 


'i  I'-i 


( 

I.  Ml 


NAN    O     LOCKERMACUS. 


If  folk  wad  lead  a  temp'rate  life 

In  drinkin'  and  in  eatin', 
At  night,  wi'  Satan  and  sic  nowt, 

They  ne'er  wad  ca'  a  meetin'. 

"  And  strive  to  learn  that  God  is  love- 
Love  and  not  dread  our  Maker, 

And  banish  superstitions  cant 
'Bout  hells  black  hallanshaker. 

"  Now  guidwiff  gang  and  tak'  a  rest, 
Lie  cozie  in  your  hammock,, 

And  learn  a  lesson  frae  last  night, 
Ne'er  to  o'erload  your  stomach." 

Quo'  Tib,  "  ye're  good  at  an  advice. 

Your  wisdom's  deep's  a  well,  man, 
But  Fam  tak'  tent,  and  e'en  tak'  hame 

Your  council  to  yersel',  man." 
Here  Tamraie  ga'e  a  kind  o'  grunt. 

And  syne  a  wee  he  coax'd  her ; 
It  wasna  lang  e're  she  slept  sound 

And  sweet  aneath  his  oxter  ! 


87 


r^' 


"4' 


>.^' 


^'^ 

(^*» 


■  •  •  • 


Nan   o'   Lockermacus. 

Inscribed  to  Graham  Wilson^  Esq.,  Bay  City^  Mich. 


'"'■  Visions  and  magic  spells  can  ye  despise, 
And  laugh  at  witches,  ghosts  and  prodigies." 

In  the  long  winter  evenings,  our  ingle-side  was  often  visited  by  an 
old  shepherd,  welj  known  in  the  Lammermoors  by  the  name  of  Auld 
Tarn  McCleish.  Although  verging,  at  that  time,  upon  three  score  and 
•^en,  he  was  hale  and  hearty.  He  was  a  steadfast  believer  in  the  super- 
natural :nd  would  unfold  tales  about  bogles,  ghosts,  witches,  warlocksy 
fairiec.  jrownies,  water-v/raiths,  kelpies  and  dead-raps  that  filled  us  with 


■■<-■%. 


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NAN    O     LOCKERMACUS. 


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tuch  fear  and  terror,  that  even  while  we  listened,  we  were  afraid  to  look 
over  our  shoulder,  and  some  of  us,  rather  than  venture  out  in  the  dark* 
ness,  would  have  preferred  to  be  lashed  within  an  inch  of  our  lives 
Auld  Tanv  always  carried  a  long  staff  with  an  iron  pike  in  the  end  of 
it,  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  himself  from  the  attacks  of  the  "  Unco 
folk."  He  also  carried  in  his  pouch  a  kind  of  white  snuff,  which  he 
called  "  witch  powder,"  and  if  any  of  the  cattle  in  the  neighborhood 
got  bewitched,  he  would  blow,  with  a  quill,  some  of  the  powder  into 
their  eyes,  for  the  purpose  of  breaking  the  witch-spell.  The  powder  he 
would  also  administer  to  human  beings  as  occasion  demanded.  In  the 
morning,  if  a  hare  happened  to  cross  his  path,  he  considered  it  unlucky, 
and  would  immediately  return  home  and  remain  till  the  sun  went  down. 
He  had  a  strong  aversion  to  the  pyet,  /'.  e.y  magpie ;  the  following, 
regarding  that  bird,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  repc  tting  with  awful 
solemnity  : 

"  Ane's  a  waddin',  twa's  a  birth,  i 

Three's  the  dead-thraw,  four  is  death." 

There  was  an  old  woman  in  the  village  called  "  Witch  Nan,"  for 
whom  he  also  had  a  strong  dislike.  According  to  him,  nr  one  would 
dream  a  fearful  dream  or  see  a  vision  without  Nan  being,  some  way  or 
another,  at  the  bottom  of  it,  If  sickness  came  among  the  cattle,  Tarn 
was  always  ready,  like  a  ministering  angel,  with  his  quill  and  powder; 
and  if  any  of  the  catfle  chanced  to  die,  he  would  with  frenzy  exclaim, 
"  May  the  deil  row  Nan  in  his  blankit!  She's  beat  me  this  time,  but  I 
hopt  I'll  live  lang  enough  to  see  day  about  wi'  that  lim'  o'  Satan."  He 
seemed  to  consider  that  he  held  a  commission  to  baulk  Nan's  evil 
machinations ;  in  a  word,  to  do  his  best  to  thwart  her  in  her  glamour- 
castings,  spells  and  cantrips.  After  great  persecution,  Nan  somewhat 
mysteriously  left  that  part  of  the  country,  and  Tarn  McCleish's  occupa- 
tion, like  Othello's,  was  gone.  He  laid  aside  his  staff,  his  quill  and  his 
witch  powder,  and  drooped  and  died. 

The  following  is  an  attempt  to  illustrate  some  of  the  notions  that 
once  prevailed  reg-<rding  the  *'  Unco  folk." 


:'ii! 


TAii  to  look 
in  the  dark* 
>f  our  lives 
the  end  of 
the  "  Unco 
f,  which  he 
eighborhood 
powder  into 
le  powder  he 
led.     In  the 
I  it  unlucky, 
I  went  down, 
le  following, 
with    awful 


;h  Nan,"  for 
K  one  would 
some  way  or 
cattle,  Tarn 
land   powder} 
;nzy  exclaim, 
|is  time,  but  I 
Satan."     He 
Nan's   evil 
ler  glamour- 
in  somewhat 
|ish's  occupa- 
[uill  and  his 

notions  that 


NAN   O     LOCKKRMACUS. 


89 


r^ANGSYNE  upon  the  Millwud  brae, 
§f  A  witch  ance  lived,  as  I've  heard  say, 
^•'  A  kind  o*  poor,  decrepit  crater, 
The  very  picture  o'  ill-nater ; 
A'  day  at  the  fireside  she'd  cour, 
A'  night  o'er  hill  and  dale  she'd  scour, 
And  play  sic  cantrips  far  and  near, 
As  filled  baith  auld  and  young  wi'  fear ; 
At  night  the  bairns  wad  spring  to  bed. 
And  jerk  the  blankets  o'er  their  head. 
Syne  trembling  baith  in  lith  and  limb, 
They'd  pray,  or  croon  their  wee  bit  hymn ; 
Sair  they  wad  strive  to  fa'  asleep 
Afore  auld  Nan  would  on  them  creep  ! 

A  couple  liv'd  south  at  Rawburn, 
For  snutf  and  tea  sair  they  did  girn ; 
Ae  day  their  Bess  was  sent  to  Dunse, 
To  buy  the  tea  and  half  an  o'nce 
O'  snuff;  whan  she  was  coming  back. 
The  shades  o'  night  did  her  o'ertak'. 
She  had  win  down  the  Henly-hill, 
And  safely  gained  and  passed  Blacksmill, 
When  wind  began  to  blaw  and  rift. 
And  lightning  flash  across  the  lift ; 
The  thunder  bellowed  o'er  her  head, 
Bess  tore  alang  wi'  a'  her  speed ; 
Just  as  the  storm  began  to  lull, 
A  something  ga'e  her  skirt  a  pull  ! 
A  something  whispered  in  her  ear. 
That  made  her  shake  and  quake  wi'  fear ! 
Syne  like  a  dog  around  her  reel'd. 
And  bark'd  and  whinged,  and  roared  and  squeel'd, 
Amang  her  feet  it  ga'e  a  wallop, 
Syne  aff  it  scour'd  wi'  fearfu'  gallop  ! 
Poor  Bessie  roar'd,  "  Oh,  guid  keep  me  !" 
Wi'  dread  she  drop'd  the  snuff  and  tea ; 


■'V 


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90 


NAN    O'    LOCKKRMACUS. 


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Power  fairly  left  her  arm  and  hand, 
And  like  a  statue  she  did  stand; 
Then  took  leg  bail  wi'  a'  her  might — 
No  earthly  power  could  stop  her  flight ! 
As  she  gade  springing  o'er  a  mire, 
7'here  cam'  a  dazzling  flash  o'  fire, 
A  something  past  her  ga'e  a  rush, 
Tnen  dashed  into  a  boortree  bush  ! 
Bess  dosed  her  e'en  and  lap  the  ditches, 
To  get  scot  free  frae  Nannie's  clutches. 

When  she  gat  ham':,  I  e'en  may  tell 
How  in  her  mother's  arms  she  fell. 
And  swoon'd  and  fainted  clean  awa, 
And  when  her  lungs  began  to  draw. 
At  intervals,, she  did  relate 
How  Nan,  the  witch,  had  crossed  her  gait ; 
Her  mother  cried,  "  the  deil  tak'  me, 
Witch  Nan  has  got  my  pickle  tea  1 " 
E'en  Bessie's  father  took  the  huff, 
His  uose  and  mull  were  scant  o'  snuff"; 
I'm  laith  10  say  he  swore  an  aith, 
An]  thus  be  spak  below  his  breath, 
"  1  durstna  fell  Nan  wi'  this  poker, 
Yet  still,  I  pray,  the  snuff'  will  choke  her. 
There's  nane  in  a'  the  rounds  wad  care. 
Though  she  lay  stiff"  for  ever  mair ! " 
Then  they  did  brew  for  Bess  some  toddy. 
To  keep  the  spirit  in  her  body. 
For  weeks  poor  Bess  was  pale  and  wan, 
And  a'  the  blame  was  laid  on  Nan. 

Now  Tam  McCleish  cam*  round  aboot. 
He  saw  poor  Bess  as  white's  a  cloot, 
Wi*  anxious  care  forthwith  did  try 
To  find  out  Bessie's  malady ! 
He  heard  about  her  unco  fright. 
He  said,  "my  dear,  I'll  set  ye  right, 


NAN   O     LOCKERMACUS. 


91 


It; 


)t, 


I'll  break  Nan's  spell,  guidfaith  !  my  certy 
I  soon  will  mak*  ye  hale  and  hearty." 
Now  Tarn  did  mix  up  a  witch  pouther, 
Three  times  he  ilang  some  o'er  her  shouther, 
Syne  charged  her  weel  whan  night  did  f  i', 
To  swallow  down  a  grain  or  twa ; 
But  'fore  the  spell  wad  fair  be  broken, 
Two  drachms  she  must  tie  in  her  stockin'. 
And  after  she  had  ta'en  the  dose    - 
To  sup  a  hearty  kit  o'  brose  ! 
Afore  he  left,  he  charged  them  s.  ir 
To  send  him  word  how  Bess  di<^       0, 
And  if  she  wasna'  gettin'  better, 
He'd  tak'  another  guid  look  at  her, 
And,  if  he  thought  there  was  occasion, 
He'd  gi'e  her  mair  examination  ! 
Tam  took  his  stick,  bade  them  guid  day. 
And  never  stop'd  for  thanks  or  pay. 


There  was  a  man  ca'd  Andrew  Luke, 
Wha  gaed  to  Dunsc  to  hire  a  cook  ; 
Whan  comin'  hame  ae  Friday  night, 
Losh,  me  !  the  twasome  gat  a  fright ! 
The  stars  abune  their  heads  were  peepin' 
As  they  alang  the  road  were  creepiii' ; 
(The  cook  was  just  a  kind  o'  trollop, 
They  gade  like  twa  snails  at  the  gallop, 
And  Andrew  didna'  care  a  snap 
To  what  extent  she  took  her  stap.) 

He  raised  his  voice,  and  thus  did  speak  : 
**  My  lass,  whan  hame,  be  sure  to  steek 
And  fasten  weel  your  bedroom  door, 
Case  Nan,  the  witch,  should  you  devour. 
Wi'  this  the  cook  did  quick  remark, 
"That  it  was  growing  fearfu'  dark." 
"  Ye're  right,"  quo'  he,  "the  deil  be  in  it, 
It's  got  pitch  dark  just  in  a  minit." 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


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Now  down  the  hill  runs  a  bit  burn, 

Just  where  the  fit-road  tak's  a  turn, 

A  gust  o'  wind  wi'  swirlin'  speed 

Did  nearly  knock  them  heels  ower  head  ! 

Their  very  hearts  lap  to  their  mouth, 

For,  whan  they  ventured  to  gang  south, 

A  brute  just  like  a  hoodie  craw 

Cam'  swatt'ring  in  atween  the  twa ! 

It  had  a  neb  sax  inches  lang. 

And  fi"ae  its  neb  there  shot  a  fang, 

It  had  twa  fiery  wull-cat  een. 

It  had  twa  legs  baith  lang  and  lean, 

And  aye  it  ga'e  the  ground  a  claw. 

Then  lap  and  danced  around  the  twa. 

And  whiles  it  ga'e  a  curious  craik. 

That  gar'd  the  cook  and  Andrew  shake  ! 

The  cook  sent  forth  an  unco  roar, 

Then  cried,  "Oh  !  shut  my  bed-room  door." 

She  gave  a  spring,  then  afF  did  birr. 

While  Andrew  no  ae  fit  could  stir. 

It  just  was  striking  twa  o'clock. 
Whan  Andrew  at  his  door  did  knock, 
"  Wha's  at  the  door  ? ''  his  wife  did  cry ; 
"I  think  it's  me,"  was  his  reply. 
Then  up  she  rose  to  let  him  in. 
He,  like  a  ghost,  did  past  her  spin. 
In  hole  and  corner  he  did  look. 
At  length  he  cried,  "where  is  the  cook, 
The  diel  a  bit  o'  me  can  see  her. 
Oh  !  what  on  earth  ha'e  ye  done  wi'  her  ?  " 
Quo'  she,  "  Guidman,  ye're  clean  gane  daft. 
The  fient  a  cook  cam'  ower  the  craft" 
He  lifted  up  his  hands  on  high 
"  May  heaven  protect  us  !  "  he  did  cry, 
"  As  sure  as  death,  we  may  depend. 
This  warld  is  coming  to  an  end, 
It  winna  do  just  now  to  swear. 
For  losh  !  our  ends  are  drawing  near ! " 


NAN    O     LOCKERMACUS. 


93 


?5 


Next  morn,  like  fire,  the  story  ran, 
How  that  infernal  witch,  caM  Nan, 
Had  turned  hersel'  into  a  craw, 
And  Andrew's  cook  had  witch'd  awa  ! 
Folk  sought  the  lass,  but  fient  a  hair 
O'  her  on  earth  was  e'er  seen  mair. 
Andrew  ae  night  keek'd  through  Nan's  losin. 
At  the  fireside  he  saw  her  dosein', 
A  cat  was  sitting  on  her  back. 
It  purred  but  no  a  word  Nan  spak. 
He  tald  the  folk  what  there  he  saw, 
And  then  he  fainted  clean  awa, 
But  time  has  left  no  trace  or  track 
To  tell  if  Andrew's  wind  cam'  back  ! 


There  lived  out  ower  upon  the  common, 
A  kind  of  antiquated  woman ; 
Whan  she  was  young,  she  had  got  married, 
But  death  her  guidman  aff  had  carried ; 
And  now  she  kept  a  coo  or  twa 
An'  sold  the  milk  in  Randyraw, 
Now,  this  guidwifie*s  nomenclater, 
I  e'en  may  tell — was  Peggy  Frater, 
She  sang  a'  day  like  a  canary. 
And  trig  and  clean  she  kept  her  dairy, 
She  hadna'  muckle  warld's  wealth. 
But  she  was  strong,  and  had  her  health. 

Ae  day  the  bairnies  in  the  Raw, 
Did  on  their  parritch  fuff  and  blaw. 
And  some  o'  them  did  glunch  and  pout, 
As  Peggie's  milk  that  mom  ran  out. 
Next  morn  she  cam'  wi'  pitious  wail. 
And  tald  an  unco  waesome  tale  : 
"  How  her  best  coo  had  turned  ill, 
And  wadna  gi'e  o'  milk,  a  gill." 
Quo'  she,  "  I'm  unco  wae  to  think 
That  she  now  lies  upon  death's  brink, 

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Though  I  did  gi*e  her  felHn'  grass 

To  help  her  through  wi'  her  distress ; 

It  fills  my  heart  to  hear  her  groan, 

She's  lying  now  down  in  the  loan, 

Her  hours  a  very  child  might  number, 

She'll  soon  fa'  into  her  last  slumber ; 

I'm  seeking  now  for  Robie  Baumer, 

To  fell  her  wi'  his  muckle  hammer ; 

It's  best  to  put  her  out  o'  pain, 

For  she'll  ne'er  be  a  coo  again." 

Wi'  grief  poor  Peg  began  a-slotterin', 

And  aff  for  Robie  she  gade  hotterin'; 

As  she  alang  the  doors  did  bellow. 

Loud  Tarn  McCleish  did  to  her  hallow ; 

He  kindly  speer'd  at  Mrs.  Frater, 

What  gard  her  tears  run  down  like  water  ? 

Then  she  did  tell  him  wi'  a  hurry, 

The  cause  o'  a'  her  grief  and  flurry; 

It  didna  tak'  a  lang  oration 

To  let  Tam  ken  her  hale  vexation. 

Quo'  Tam,  "  it  will  be  a  bad  job, 

If  death  frae  you  that  coo  should  rob. 

She  has  a  bonnie  head  o'  horns. 

Their  ends  are  just  as  sharp  as  thorns ; 

I  wat,  she  is  a  beast  well  made, 

Her  legs  are  sma',  her  brisket's  brade. 

Her  hide  is  just  as  saft  as  silk. 

And  what  a  jaw  she  gi'es  o'  milk. 

Her  skim  milk's  grand,  I  do  declare  it. 

The  mair  I'd  drink,  I'd  drink  the  mair  o't ! 

And  than  the  cream,  I  do  believe  it, 

Is  just  '    ^  thickness  o'  a  diviot, 

Her  bv.     r,  aye,  guidfaith,  indeed. 

Its  marrow  ne'er  was  spread  on  breed  ! " 

Tam  thought  awhile  and  then  did  say, 

"  We  e'en  will  dander  up  the  brae, 

I'll  tak'  a  look  at  her,  ma  fegs. 

And  try  to  set  her  on  her  legs, 


III  n 


NAN    ()     LOCKERMACUS. 


95 


Another  tear  now  dinna  drop, 

Guidwife  !  as  lang's  there's  life,  there's  hope  ! " 

"  Weel,"  quo'  the  wife,  "  yet  I'll  maintain, 

That  a'  our  efforts  will  be  vain, 

Man  !  Tam,  if  ye  but  heard  her  blaw 

Ye'd  trow  she  was  in  the  dead-thraw." 

Tam  drew  his  hand  frae  out  his  pocket, 

His  bonnet  on  his  head  he  knockit. 

Then  up  the  brae  did  meditate^ 

Till  they  gat  through  the  plantin'  gate ; 

Syne  aff  they  waded  through  the  clover, 

Fu'  kind  and  couthie  wi'  ilk  other ; 

The  winds  were  blawing  saft  and  sweet, 

The  flowers  were  blooming  'mang  their  feet. 

Up  in  the  air  the  larks  were  springing, 

The  birdies  on  ilk  tree  were  singing, 

The  lambs  upon  the  knowes  were  dancing, 

Down  on  the  burn  the  sun  was  glancing ; 

As  Tam  did  look  at  Mrs.  Frater, 

He  said,  "how  grand's  the  works  o'  nater.'' 

"Aye,  aye,"  quo  she,  **  I'm  sure  I'd  feel 

Contented  if  ma  coo  was  weal, 

O'  care  and  grief  we'll  ha'e  our  load, 

Sae  lang  as  we're  abune  the  sod. 

And  though  my  coo  do  run  her  race, 

ril  get  another  in  her  place  ; 

I'd  ance  a  hantle  mair  to  mourn. 

Whan  my  guidman  was  frae  me  torn, 

For,  whan  his  spirit  gaed  aboon, 

Nae  ane  on  earth  could  fill  his  shoon." 

Fu'  cosh  they  crack'd  for  half  a  mile, 

Until  they  reached  the  auld  dyke  stile ; 

As  o'er  the  steps  they  singly  creepit. 

And  on  the  other  side  they  drepit, 

They  saw  the  coo  lie  in  the  loanin', 

And  loud  and  lang  the  beast  was  groanin'; 

Then  Tam  gade  round  and  round  about  her. 

Quo*  he,  "  I  unco  sair  misdoubt  her, 


v^-S. 


96 


NAN    O'    LOCKERMACUS. 


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1,1  J. 


I  maistly  think  'twill  be  in  vain 

To  raise  her  on  her  legs  again." 

And  then  he  cockit  up  his  eye, 

And  said,  "we  might  do  worse  than  try." 

Down  in  the  ground  his  stick  he  stapit, 

He  placed  his  bannet  on  the  tap  o't. 

As  fou  as  it  would  hold,  the  quill 

Wi'  pouther  he  did  deftly  fill ; 

To  the  guidwife  he  said  at  length, 

"  Just  grip  her  tail  wi'  a'  your  strength, 

And  in  a  minit  I  will  tell. 

If  I  ha'e  broken  Nannie's  spell." 

Peg  held  the  tail — at  the  cow^s  head 

Tarn  louted  down  wi'  spraicklin'  speed, 

WhifF  in  her  e'en  the  pouther  blew. 

She  roared,  then  to  her  feet  she  flew. 

And  o'er  Tarn's  body  ga'e  a  spring, 

While  to  the  tail  the  wife  did  hing. 

Tarn  yelled,  "the  deil's  got  in  the  coo  ! 

Hech  me  !  I'm  fairly  done  for  noo  ! " 

He  thought  the  beast  wad  fair  devour  him, 

As  the  auld  wife  played  yerk  out  ower  him. 

At  length  Tarn  to  his  feet  did  whip. 

And  on  the  knowe  he  ga'e  a  skip, 

"That  coo,"  quo  he,  "  will  soon  be  well, 

Losh,  me  !  I've  broken  Nannie's  spell." 

Now,  Mrs.  Frater  cried,  "  alack  ! 

Ye've  broke  the  spell  an'  broke  my  back !  " 

But  Tam  ne'er  cared  a  word  she  said. 

He  took  his  stick  and  aff  he  gade ; 

The  guidwife  rose,  she  heaved  a  sigh. 

She  saw  her  coo  wi'  tail  on  high. 

Thundering  alang  wi'  break-neck  speed, 

Tossing  and  shaking  horn  and  head  ! 

She  thought,  as  it  o'er  dykes  did  bleeze — 

The  cure  was  worse  than  the  dir  ^ase  ! 


NAN    O     LOCKKRMACUS. 


97 


There  was  a  lad  ca'd  Jemmy  Deans, 
A  lad  possessed  o'  mense  and  means  ; 
A  horse  imto  a  cart  he  yokit, 
Then  placed  ten  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
And  aff  he  rode  at  mornin's  sun, 
To  buy  some  coals — say  half  a  ton. 
While  comin'  hame  on  the  auld  track, 
James  Deans  ahint  the  cart  did  walk  ; 
The  day  was  edging  down  to  night, 
The  sun  had  gane  clean  out  o'  sight, 
And  darkness  cam'  sedate  and  still 
And  settled  upon  Harden's-hill. 
When  comin'  past  the  Snuffy-holes, 
James  sprang  upon  the  cart  o'  coals, 
Put  forth  his  hand  the  reins  to  catch, 
But  fient  a  rein  was  there  to  snatch ; 
He  jumpit  down  and  aff  did  stridle, 
And  caught  the  horse  fast  by  the  bridle, 
To  stop  the  beast  he  roar'd,  "  woa,  woa  !  " 
Yet  still  the  horse  wad  onward  go ! 
He  looked  a-head,  what  he  saw  there 
Did  mak'  him  gaze  wi'  idiot  stare  ! 
He  saw  a  curious  looking  crater, 
Just  like  a  goat  in  shape  and  stature ; 
Twa  horns  frae  out  its  skull  ascended, 
A  beard  far  past  its  knees  descended. 
James  Deans  then  svarfed  wi'  fear  and  fright. 
On  ilka  horn  he  saw  a  light 
That  bleezed  and  burned  bright  and  clear, 
And  sent  a  glimmer  far  and  near  ! 
At  ilka  step  the  brute  wad  take, 
Its  shaggy  tail  did  toss  and  shake. 
It  held  the  reins  fast  wi'  its  teeth. 
And  pulled  as  if  'tween  life  and  death. 
Now  Jemmy  steevely  held  his  whip, 
He  sprang  and  ga'e  it  sic  a  clip, 
Ii  drop'd  the  reins  and  up  did  spurt, 
Backward  it  bleezed  o'er  horse  and  cart, 


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NAN    O'    LOCKERMACUS. 


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It  bounded  twenty  feet  or  mair, 

It  turned  and  tumbled  in  the  air, 

From  mouth  and  nostril  forth  there  came 

A  red  sulphurious  blast  of  flame  ! 

James  stood  and  gazed  with  wild  surprise, 

Till  fear  shut  up  and  sealed  his  eyes. 

And  when  he  opened  them  once  more 

He  gave  a  wild  unearthly  roar — 

He  saw  the  brute  plunge  in  the  mire, 

And  vanish  in  a  flash  o'  fire ! 

When  James  gat  home  he  did  report 
How  he  made  Satan  loup  and  snort, 
But  folk  about  the  Randy-raw 
Did  better  ken  what  Jimmy  saw ; 
They  shook  their  heads  with  sore  afiliction. 
Their  thumbs  did  point  in  Nan's  direction  ! 


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Ae  night  McCleish  sat  by  the  fire 
Weavin'  the  thread  around  the  wire ; 
A  pair  o'  brogues  lay  'neath  his  seat ; 
His  slipshod  bauchels  graith'd  his  feet. 
His  bannet  blue  hung  on  a  pin. 
His  cowl  was  strapped  aneath  his  chin ; 
On  his  chair-back  a  plaid  was  hingin', 
Out  ower  his  head  twa  hams  were  swingin'. 
His  stafl"  lay  on  the  dresser  head. 
Aside  a  trencher  fou  o'  bread ; 
A  cat  lay  beekin'  in  the  nook. 
The  kettle  sang  upon  the  crook. 
Upon  the  fire  the  peats  were  heapit. 
Clean  as  a  preen  the  hearth  was  sweepit. 
His  bellowses  had  blawn  a  gale — 
They  now  hung  breathless  on  a  nail ; 
An  ulzie  lamp  stood  on  the  brace, 
Wha's  light  shone  shimmerin'  on  his  face ; 
Tam  at  his  stockin'  sat  and  ply'd, 
At  times  the  canty  fire  he  eyed, 


! 


NAN    O'    LOCKER.MACUS. 


99 


And  whiles  he'd  glow'r  aboot  asklent — 
The  very  picture  o'  content. 
Upon  a  shelf  a  mouse  crap  out, 
It  nibbled  at  auld  Tarn's  dish-cloot : 
The  cat  ne'er  fashed  to  turn  her  e'e, 
But  looked  as  mim  as  mini  could  be ; 
McCleish  now  laid  aside  his  stockin', 
He  raxed  his  pipe — began  a  smokin*, 
And  like  the  bonnie  female  gender, 
He  placed  his  cloots  upon  the  fender. 
Then,  like  his  drowsy  cat,  sat  blinkin'. 
Till  sleep  upon  his  eyes  cam'  jinkin'. 

Now  at  this  hour  a  graceless  laddie 
Wha  was  neglected  by  his  daddie, 
Straevaget  round  aboot  that  night 
And  in  Tam's  window  saw  a  light ; 
He  sleely  mounted  the  door-stane. 
And  keekit  through  the  window-pane ; 
And  as  he  listen'd  at  the  losin, 
He  heard  that  Tam  was  soundly  dozein' ; 
As  Tam  ga'e  ae  confounded  snore. 
The  callant  sleely  op'd  the  door ; 
On  tip-toe  ben  the  house  he  slunk, 
His  een  glanced  on  a  brimstone  spunk, 
Its  end  he  lit,  then  canny  goes 
And  hauds  it  under  Tammie's  nose. 
Then  out  the  door  awa  gaed  bleezin'. 
Afore  McCleish  began  the  snee/  n' ; 
Tam  had  some  bristles  in  his  beek. 
And  when  the  hair  began  to  feek 
He  ga'e  ae  bound  up  in  the  air, 
He  yelled  and  raved  wi'  black  despair. 
He  reeled  and  chok'd,  he  swore  and  swat, 
He  fuffed  and  paw'd  just  like  a  cat. 
And  when  he  drew  a  canny  breath. 
In  vengeance  wild  he  swore  an  aith — 
He  swore  by  moon  and  stars  sae  bright, 
He'd  murder  Nan  that  very  night ! 


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Yes  !  'fore  the  night  wad  steal  awa', 

He'd  hew  her  up  in  pieces  sma', 

And  throw  her  banes  ahint  the  dyke, 

For  dogs  and  corbie-craws  to  pyke, 

And  ere  he  took  a  second  thought, 

A  sword  frae  'hint  the  bed  he  brought, 

His  ulzie  lamp  he  quick  blew  out, 

Syne  to  the  passage  aft'  he  put ; 

But  mischief's  horn  that  night  was  fou, 

For  in  the  entry  lay  a  soo ; 

Out  ower  its  body  auld  Tarn  bounded, 

Tarn  and  the  Imite  were  fliir  confounded, 

It  ga'e  a  bloody,  murdering  roar, 

Syne  plunged  out  ower  him  to  the  door ! 

Tam  turned  as  stift'  and  cauld  as  lead, 

Then  swarf'd  away  wi'  perfect  dread ; 

And  when  he  rose  he  stood  aghast, 

He  thought  ilk  breath  wad  be  his  last. 

His  bosom  heaved  with  pangs  o'  grief. 

He  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf, 

Thon.gh  hope  revived  he  said,  "dod  blast  it. 

My  days  are  gane,  my  life's  exhausted. 

My  kane  is  paid — I'm  here  nae  langer. 

Yet  still  I'm  like  to  burst  wi'  anger ; 

A  bat  or  moudiwart  might  see 

Nan  soon  will  be  the  death  o'  me ! '' 

That  night  Tam  didna  venture  out. 
He  rowed  his  nose  up  in  a  cloot, 
And  *mang  his  blankets  shook  wi'  fear. 
In  case  Witch  Nan  would  re-appear. 
While  horror  at  his  heart  was  snappin', 
Despair  was  worrying  at  his  crappen. 

At  length  the  mists  o*  morn  departed, 
And  Tam  arose  sair  disconcerted  ; 
Though  unco  waff-like  and  forlorn. 
He  busket  up  at  screigh  o'  morn. 
Put  on  his  shoon  and  eke  his  claes, 
Syne  doon  the  road  he  took  his  ways ; 


NAN    O     IA)(JKKRMAC  LS. 


lOI 


At  ilka  step  his  wrath  increased — 

It  burned  and  simmer'd  in  his  Ijriest ; 

O'er  dyke  he  glow'r'd,  ^en  roared  "  dod-rat-us, 

There's  the  auld  Endor  howkin'  taties ! " 

And  as  he  thus  a  blink  did  hover, 

His  wrath  was  fliirly  boiling  over  ; 

He  raised  his  voice  and  cried,  "  ye  limmer. 

Ye  ne'er  will  see  the  flowers  o'  simmer ; 

Ye're  on  the  verge  o'  the  next  warl'. 

Your  banes  Fll  burn  up  in  a  barrel, 

Langsyne  by  rights,  ye  scorpian  woman, 

'Mang  seas  o'  fire  ye  should  be  soomin', 

But  faith  this  morn  ye'll  get  your  sneesh. 

Or  than  my  name's  no  Tarn  McClcish, 

Your  end  is  near,  wi'  Nick  no  doot 

Ye'll  soon  be  suppin'  soup  aboot ! " 

Nan  roared,  "gang  hame,  ye  hoary  ass, 

Gang  hame,  and  hide  your  ill-faiird  face. 

Gang  hame,  ye  wuzzent,  slinkin'  brock, 

And  tie  your  head  up  in  a  pock, 

Ye  menseless,  mis-begotten  tyke, 

How  dare  ye  venture  ower  my  dyke, 

And  set  your  fit  on  my  kail  yard — 

Ye  gruesome  tanker  back  it  caird  ? 

Gif  ye  a  herrin's  length  come  near  me. 

Just  like  a  salmon  trout  I'll  spear  ye  !  " 

Nan  shook  the  grape,  then  cried,  "  ye  nowt 

Come  on  and  get  your  harns  dug  out." 

Tam  cried,  "  ye  brimstone  hag  o'  Sodom, 

Last  night  ye  nearly  dressed  my  drodum, 

Ye  witch  notorious  !  dinna  stare 

As  if  ye  didna  ken  or  care,  ' 

Ye  needna  growl  and  girn  wi'  rage — 

Ye've  now  attained  a  ripe  auld  age, 

Steek  baith  your  een,  and  baud  your  breath, 

And  be  prepared  for  instant  death  !  " 

Nan  stood  erect,  her  foe  she  eyed. 

With  burning  rage  she  thus  replied — 


1 
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102 


NAN    O'    LOCKERMACUS. 


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mi: 


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ill 


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ill!! 


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-iiiiiiiiii^i 


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IM  ^-       ■  ilHiim    I 


1^1  I 


"  Big  bolts  of  fire  descend  and  cleave  him  ! 

Open  ye  earthquakes  to  receive  him, 

Engulph  him  in  your  dark  abodes, 

'Mang  lizards,  spiders,  wasps  and  toads  ; 

May  vipers  twist  and  coil  around  him, 

May  waters  rush  and  fires  confound' him, 

May  noises  ring  and  clash  and  clatter. 

May  terror  turn  his  blood  to  water. 

While  monsters  lash  him  to  and  fro 

May  pity  never  hear  his  woe  I " 

Tam  stood  stock  still,  for  he  did  spy 

Ten  thousand  furies  in  her  eye. 

He  hung  his  head  like  a  blate  wooer. 

Or  rather  like  an  evil  doer  ; 

Her  words,  a  metaphor  to  borrow. 

Did  prick  him  to  the  very  marrow; 

Although  his  knees  did  shake  and  tremble, 

His  fears  he  tried  hard  to  disemble ; 

And  thus  he  spoke  :  "  Nan,  say  nae  mair, 

Else  frae  the  roots  I'll  rive  your  hair ; 

Woman,  I'll  gi'e  ye  sic  a  mell, 

Will  crack  your  skull  like  an  egg  shell. 

And  ere  your  lugs  are  done  wi'  ringin', 

I'll  peel  your  hide  aff  like  an  ingan ; 

Last  night  ye  filled  me  fou  o'  pain, 

But  now  your  day  o'  grace  is  gane, 

Ye  needna  stand  and  shake  and  shiver, 

Ye  can't  expect  to  live  forever ! " 

Tam  ga*e  a  glower  and  syne  a  gape, 

Then  cried,  "  ye  randy,  drap  that  grape  ; 

Losh  bliss  my  soul,  that's  byous  queer, 

I've  e'en  forgot  baith  sword  and  spear  ! " 

Then  Nannie  cried,  "  Tam,  come  your  ways. 

And  get  the  length  o'  the  grape  taes  ; 

Will  ye  no  come  ?   by  a'  that's  true 

I  soon  will  be  the  death  o'  you ! " 

She  gave  a  spring,  Tam  turned  his  heel. 

While  Nannie  after  him  did  squeel, 


ii  i 


NAN    O     LOCKERMACUS. 


103 


He  bicker'd  like  the  very  wind, 

And  left  poor  Nannie  far  behind. 

He  keekit  round,  then  cried,  "  ye  witch  ye, 

Fd  think  black  burning  shame  to  touch  ye." 

Nannie  stood  snirtin'  in  her  sleeve, 

And  unto  proud  o'  her  reprieve. 

Now  Tarn  McCleish  did  hameward  snool. 
As  dowf  and  docile  as  a  mule. 
Which  tells  the  aft  repeated  tale, 
That  nought  'gainst  woman  can  prevail ; 
By  hook  or  crook  on  a'  occasions, 
She's  master  o'  the  situations. 

Twa  weeks  gade  by  wi'  cannie  speed, 
Nae  reek  cam*  out  Nan's  chimbly  head. 
By  day  or  night  the  ne'er  a  ane 
Had  seen  or  heard  her  mak'  a  din. 
At  last  they  ventured  to  her  biggin*. 
They  dug  a  hole  clean  through  the  riggin', 
Back  to  the  earth  they  lap  wi*  fright. 
For,  Oh !  they  saw  an  unco  sight ! 
They  saw  Nan  drawn  np  twa  fauld. 
And  lying  dead,  and  stiff  and  cauld. 
Next  day  they  bursted  in  her  door. 
They  stared  and  still  they  wondered  more, 
Nan's  cat  stood  there  wi'  glowerin'  een. 
But  ne'er  a  shred  o'  Nan  was  seen  ! 
Then  up  stood  ancient  Tarn  McCleish, 
And  after  he  had  ta'en  a  sneesh. 
He  said,  "  last  night  when  down  the  haugh. 
O'er  head  I  heard  an  eldrich  laugh, 
I  gazed  right  up  and  there  I  Gaw 
Twa  witches  airtin'  for  Dunse  law ! 
The  tane  had  on  a  blood  red  mantle, 
Wi'  flannel  toy  tied  on  her  cantle ; 
The  other's  face  was  sour  and  crabbit. 
And  she  had  on  a  ridin'  habit ; 
I'm  unco  sure  this  ane  was  Nannie — 
She  looked  sae  wud  and  sae  uncanny. 


it'tff' 


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[04 


NAN    O     LOCKKRMACUS. 


liiiiii 


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I  stood,  1  gazed  wi'  abject  wonder 

To  see  them  cleave  the  cluds  asunder, 

They  joukit  here,  and  whirl'd  there, 

They  tossed  and  tumbled  in  the  air ; 

At  times  they  high  o'er  head  gaed  springin', 

Syne  round  the  circle  they  gaed  swingin' ; 

Auld  Nan,  the  base  black  hearted  jade. 

Seemed  dext'rious  at  the  lieeing  trade, 

Tlie  hag,  the  bleezing  Satan's  limb. 

Appeared  to  bein  glor'ous  trim; 

They  baith  were  in  the  highest  feather, 

They  played  and  friskit  wi'  ilk  other ; 

'Twad  gien  a  very  saint  ^he  frantics 

To  ha'e  observed  their  deevilish  antics  ; 

Ance  they  drew  near,  and  by  my  faith 

1  thought  fu'  sure  I'd  be  their  death  ! 

My  gun  wi'  muckle  speed  I  cockit, 

l^he  stock  I  to  my  shoulder  lockit, 

I  took  an  aim,  and  I'll  be  bound 

The  twa  wad  soon  ha'e  kissed  the  ground, 

I'm  unco  sure  they'd  got  their  clink. 

If  they  had  hover'd  just  a  bhnk. 

If  they  had  tarried  for  the  shot 

I'm  sure  I'd  blawn  baith  to  pot ! 

But  guide  us  a' !  there's  monie  a  slip 

Tak's  place  between  the  cup  and  lip ; 

The  gun  struck  back  wi'  sic  a  jar 

Which  knock'd  me  endways  'mang  the  glaur ; 

And  as  I  groaned  wi'  bitter  spite. 

The  twasome  flaffered  out  o'  sight !  ' 

Then  a'  the  folk  cried,  "  guid  forsake  us. 

Nan's  weel  awa  frae  Lockermacus  !  " 

Witch  Nan  is  gane !  the  dominie  chuckles. 
He's  yerkit  superstitions  knuckles, 
He,  with  the  aid  o'  press  and  pu'pit, 
Has  Witch  and  Warlock  fairly  routit ! 
And  wiodom  cries,  "  their  loss  is  gain," 
To  which  the  Bard  writes  down — Amen. 


THE    POOR   O     THE    PARISH. 


105 


4^    /'-^ 


T 


HE  Poor  o'   the  Parish. 


des, 


Inscribed  to  W.  Bracky  Esy.j  Duntroon,  Ont. 


Kj  JhE  Poor  o'  the  Parish  are  mickle  to  main, 
ll^  In  a  dt^t  or  a  de^i  they  dvvall  by  their  lane ; 

Their  friends  are  but  few,  and  but  little  they  care 
How  the  auld  bodies  fend  or  the  auld  bodies  fare. 
The  back-end  o'  life  e'en  has  mickle  to  dree ; 
The  youthfu*  ne'er  dream  what  auld  age  has  to  see, 
The  warld's  vain  hopes  in  their  bosoms  they  cherish. 
They  ne'er  ha'e  a  thought  being  Poor  o'  the  Parish. 

The  Poor  o'  the  Parish  are  laden  wi'  care, 

Their  eldin's  but  scant  and  their  cleedin's  but  bare ; 

Yet  they  grudge  nae  the  rich  wha  in  luxury  shine. 

But  blest  wi'  contentment  they  never  repine. 

There's  auld  Eppie,^ poor  body,  she  works  at  her  stockin', 

On  the  gate  o'  the  grave,  wi'  eild  she  is  rockin', 

In  her  Bible  she  reads — it's  a'  that  can  nourish 

The  hearts  o'  the  weary,  the  Poor  o'  the  Parish. 

She  gangs  to  the  kirk  cleedit  barely  eneugh, 

But  her  heart  is  weel  clad  wi'  the  robes  o'  the  truth, 

Aft  doon  her  wan  cheek  the  silent  tears  fa', 

As  she  hearkins  o'  Him  wha  died  for  us  a'. 

Her  bairnies  that's  livin'  are  awa  like  the  frem'd, 

The  guidman  o'  her  bosom  death  langsyne  has  claim 'd. 

But  there's  ane  ever  near — never  backward  to  cherish 

And  comfort  the  weary — the  Poor  o'  the  Parish. 


I 


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TO   JAMES    WALKER,    ESQ. 


She  hopes  soon  to  dwall  in  the  mansions  above, 
Where  the  poor  are  made  rich  through  a  Saviour's  love, 
Where  nae  sorrow  can  enter,  nae  grief  can  oppress. 
Where  a'  is  ae  day  o'  unchangeable  bHss. 
Aye,  there's  ane  high  aboon  wha  kens  a '  our  ken, 
What  we  gi'e  wi'  our  heart  it*s  to  Jlim  that  we  len', 
Folk,  dinna  be  scrimp,  'twill  gi'e  life  a  relish, 
To  be  couthie  and  kind  to  the  Poor  o'  the  Parish. 


•  •  • 


To  James  Walker,  Esq^,  Detroit. 


Sir:- 


ffi>AST  night  I  took  an  unco  turn, 
fl"  Death  nearly  caught  me  in  his  girn, 
Man !  I  did  think  my  earthly  pirn 

Had  run  its  course ; 
At  length  I'm  round  this  morning  stirrin', 
No  muckle  worse ! 

By  spells  I  thought  it  was  the  ague, 
By  jerks  I  thought  it  the  lumlJago, 
"  Het  saut,"  I  cried,  "  frae  Onondaga, 

Rub  on !  rub  on  ! 
Jee  I  fly  for  doctors  on  a  nagie 

Afore  I'm  gone  ! " 

:Sae  soon  as  I  wi'  speech  was  dune, 

A  whirling  I  took  in  my  croon ; 

I  trow'd  my  breeks  and  my  auld  shoon 

Nae  mair  I'd  fill, 
J  bade  farewell  to  knife  and  spoon 

And  sneeshin'  mill. 


TO   JAMES    WALKER,    ESQ. 


My  pores  at  length  began  a  rinnin' 
On  bowster,  blanket,  cod  and  linen, 
And  'fore  the  doctors  a'  cam*  spinnin' 

My  een  to  close, 
I  gather'd  strength  to  put  a  spoon  in 

And  sup  some  brose. 

And  then  to  a'  I  did  rehearse — 
Sometimes  in  prose,  sometimes  in  verse — 
How  folk  that's  bom  about  the  Merse 

Are  strong  and  hardy ; 
So  friends  ye  needna  yoke  the  hearse 

Yet,  for  the  Bardie  ! 

With  this  they  a'  with  laughter  fought ; 
The  guidwife  cried,  "  losh,  I  forgot 
To  tie  my  stocking  round  your  throat — 

There !  dearest  rest." 
Her  thankful  tears  fell  burning  hot 

Upon  my  breast. 

Then  Hope  did  bark  and  worry  fear. 
Then  gentle  sleep  came  cantering  near^ 
And  when  the  morning  sun  shone  clear 

I  ope'd  my  eyes, 
And  found,  that  I,  your  friend,  was  here 

Below  the  skies  ! 

Now,  Walker,  if  the  day  keep  fine, 
And  if  the  sun  no  cease  to  shine, 
Expect  me  at  your  house  to  dine, 

'Tween  sax  and  seven ; 
Meanwhile,  I  am,  in  friendship — thine 

Sae  lang's  I'm  livin'. 


107 


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TO    DAD    BRICHAN,    ESQ. 


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To   Dad  Bi^ichan,  Esc^ 

Wha  cam'  to  Detroit,  and  wha  left  in  a  hurly  burly ;    and  wha 

gat  his  fiddle  broken,  and  then  to  male'  amends  beg^  to  sing;  and 

wha  scoured  the  conntry  far  an'  near  to  get  the  sang   beginning   wi' 

the  words — 

'*  My  name  is  Bauldy  Fraser,  man, 
Tm  puir,  an'  auld,  an*  pale,  an*  wan, 
I  brak  my  shin,  an*  tint  a  han* 
Upon  Culioden  lea,  man!*' 

He  gat  the  sang,  and  if  his  wind-pipe  no  get  crackit  like  his 
fiddle,  he  will  sing  it  in  grand  style  to  his  many  friends  and  admirers 
at  Petrolia,  Ontario,  on  St.  Andrew's  day. 

^Y  honest,  bletherin',  canty  Dad, 
Gosh,  whan  ye  cam',  man,  I  was  glad, 
But,  like  a  March  hare  I  was  mad 

Whan  I  did  hear 
That  ye  had  row'd  about  your  plaid. 
And  aff  did  steer. 

Did  police  loons  threat  to  arrest  ye. 
Did  petticoated  jades  molest  ye, 
Or  what  in  a'  the  earth  possessed  ye 

To  tak'  leg  bail 
And  rin  as  if  Auld  Satan  chased  ye 

Doon  to  the  rail  ? 

Though  I  consider  ye  did  wrang. 
Yet  still  I  send  ye  up  the  sang. 
And  hope  ye  will  be  in  the  fang 

To  scraugh  away. 
And  sing  it  weel  your  friends  amang. 

On  Andrew's  day. 


y;  and  wha 
to  sing ;  and 
eginning   wi' 


kit   like    his 
and  admirers 


TO    DAD    BRICHAN,    ESQ., 


109 


Now,  Dad,  I'm  unco  laith  to  say, 

Wi'  you  I  canna  meet  that  day. 

To  hear  ye  sing,  and  screed  and  pray, 

An'  laugh  and  joke. 
As  I  maun  stap  to  ha'e  my  say, 

Wi'  our  ain  folk. 

But  whan  the  snaw  is  aff  the  grund. 
And  whan  the  spring  blaws  out  her  wind 
I'll  wager  you  ae  sterling  pund 

I'll  no  be  slack 
To  tak'  a  cannie  dander  round 

Wi'  you  to  crack. 

I  hope  and  pray  that  ye'll  attend  it, 
And  get  your  guid  auld  fiddle  mendit. 
And  no  again  awa  to  lend  it 

To  some  fi.ile  bairn, 
And  get  it  ance  mair  rack'd  and  rendit, 

Frae  stem  to  stern. 

And  whan  I  come,  ye'll  yerk  the  strings, 
Sae  grand  ye'll  play  the  Highland  springs, 
Wi'  glee  we'll  mak'  the  very  tings 

Get  up  and  scour. 
And  jump  and  flee  as  if  they'd  wings. 

About  the  floor ! 

As  sure's  I  breath,  I  here  declare. 

Whan  ye  play  up  a  Scottish  air. 

The  first  note  cracks  the  croon  o'  care. 

The  second  line 
Just  mak's  ma  twa  een  glint  an'  glare 

Wi'  joy  divine ! 

I've  seen  whan  I  was  fairly  blockit, 
And  no  ae  penny  in  my  pocket. 
To  buy  my  breakfast  or  my  nocket. 

And  friends  were  scanty. 
My  harp  !  losh,  man,  I  up  wad  tak'  it. 

And  soon  got  vauntie  ! 


,4. 


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TO    DAD    BRICHAN,    ESQ. 


;,  ,ii  |!ii.!i.:ii!i'::;?iji; 


PI 


111! 


,     I'f-^'ii 


I  didna  grumble,  girn  and  clatter, 
And  hing  my  lugs  about  the  matter. 
But  wi'  the  Muses  aflf  Vd  blatter, 

An'  loup  care*s  hurdles  ! 
And  left  the  jade  ahint,  dod  rat  her, 

Wi'  other  mortals. 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  my  fiddlin'  daddie, 
Gi'e  my  respects  to  your  fair  lady, 
I  hope  ye  row  her  in  your  plaidie 

In  this  cauld  weather, 
An'  at  the  fireside  brew  the  toddy, 

Fu'  crouse  thegether. 

1  hope  that  Buckham's  skill  and  washes 
Ha'e  gard  ye  smash  your  goggle  glasses. 
And  that  nae  mair  ye'll  tak'  out  passes 

And  ride  to  Flint, 
And  get  your  een  row'd  up  wi'  messes 

O'  lard  and  lint. 

I  hope  ye'll  'ang  enjoy  your  smoke, 
And  in  your  chair  fu'  cheerie  rock, 
And  sing  a  sang,  and  crack  a  joke — 

My  Niff-naif  carle, 
And  pu'  your  fiddle  out  the  pock 

And  gar  her  skirl. 

This  warld  is  whiles  a  perfect  staw, 
Care  comes  wi'  ilka  breath  we  draw. 
If 'twere  na  for  a  friend  or  twa — 

You're  ane  beHeve  it, — 
I  wadna  care  a  single  straw 

How  soon  I'd  leave  it. 

Now,  Dad,  I  trust  that  whan  we  die. 
We'll  ha'e  nae  trouble  in  the  sky, 
But  on  the  wings  o'  glory  fly, 

Wi*  a'  our  might, 
Where  we  will  neither  grieve  nor  sigh 

'Mang  realms  o'  light ! 


!ll!l 


THK   SECOND   SIGHT. 


II  I 


The   Second   Sight. 


Inscribed  to  H.  Moffaty  Esq.     "^  man  o*  tha  Merse.** 


Though  the  fairies  and  bogles  have  vanished,  yet  there  remain 
believers  in  what  is  termed  in  Scotland  the  "  second  sight."  Those 
who  possess  this  gift,  as  far  as  I  can  understand,  somewhat  resemble 
the  "  Medium  "  of  the  Spiritualists.  Though  the  author  is  no  believer 
in  the  supernatural,  yet  candor  compels  him  to  state  that  the  main 
incidents  in  the  tale,  as  told  by  '*  Uncle  John,"  are  truthfully  related. 
I  may  also  remark  that  the  spot  where  the  ghost  of  the  gifted  student 
appeared,  has  been  often  pointed  out  to  the  writer  of  these  lines. 


HE  wintry  winds  were  blawing  unco  sair, 
The  trees  stood  shivering  wi'  their  branches  bare, 
A  goustie  night  set  in — the  angry  blast 
Was  howUng  fiercely  frae  the  east  to  wast. 
Auld  Uncle  John  was  sitting  on  the  bunk, 
Lunting  his  cutty  wi'  a  brimstone  spunk ; 
The  fire  upon  the  hearth  was  bleezing  bright — 
A  couthie  comfort  in  a  cauldriflf  night, 
A  stack  o'  peats  stood  up  ahint  the  byre, 
We  didna  fail  to  kittle  up  the  fire  ; 
Now  my  auld  grannie  round  the  house  was  splutterin', 
And  to  hersel  some  unkent  words  was  mutterin', 
And  as  the  blast  wi'  vengeance  sair  was  leatherin", 
She  e'en  sat  down  and  thus  began  a  bletherin' : — 
"  'Twas  just  a  night  like  this,  whan  in  my  youth, 
I  then  was  living  wast  at  Horseupcleugh, 
The  snaw,  knee  deep,  baith  hill  and  dale  did  cover, 
The  mountains  seemed  to  groan  to  ane  another. 


■r  ►    «* 

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112 


THE    SECOND    SIGHT. 


'"'w.h^ 


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1 


The  ice  had  spang'd  and  frozen  pool  and  burn, 
And  a'  the  yird  was  just  as  hard  as  airn, 
The  icicles  in  ranks,  in  fronts  and  rears, 
Hung  down  like  daggers,  swords,  and  pointed  spears, 
The  wind  in  blasts  gade  whistling  through  the  lane. 
The  hailstanes  clatter'd  'gainst  the  window  pane, 
As  sure  as  death  at  times  we  swarPd  wi'  fright 
I  weel  I  wat,  it  was  a  judgment  night ! 

"  My  neighbor  lass  was  bonny  Betty  Broon, 
As  nice  a  lass  as  ever  step'd  in  shoon  ! 
Her  een  were  just  a  shade  'tween  black  and  blue. 
Red  were  her  cheeks,  like  cherries  was  her  mou'; 
I  eke  may  say,  at  mornin'  or  at  e'en, 
Out  doors  or  in,  she  aye  look'd  trig  and  clean ; 
She  sang  sae  sweet,  she  aye  was  blyth  and  gash, 
Sae  gallant  gade,  an'  stood  as  streight's  a  rash  ! 
And  a'  the  lads,  baith  far  and  near,  allow'd 
That  Betty's  hair  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd ! 

"She  had  a  lad  that  liv'd  at  Cranshaw  toon, 
Wha  thought  the  warld  o'  his  ain  Betty  Broon, 
A  gentle  lad,  he  neither  drank  nor  smokit, 
And  Bet  and  he  wi'  fond  endearments  trockit ; 
They  had  agreed  to  marry  'bout  the  Lammas, 
An'  tak'  up  house  somewhere  aboot  Auld  Gammas,' 
To  be  particular  (Grannie  then  did  say). 
That  Betty's  sweetheart  was  ca'd  Sandy  Hay. 

"  Twa  men  folk  we  had  likewise  in  the  ha', 
Ane  ca'd  Tam  Dodds — the  other  Jamie  Shaw, 
Out  bye  the  wark  was  ower  aboot  the  toon, 
Horses  were  supper'd  an'  were  bedded  doon. 
The  kye  had  a'  been  look'd  to  in  the  byre. 
And  we  sat  crackin'  round  the  kitchen  fire. 
Tam  Dodd  was  weak  in  head  but  strong  in  lung. 
He  never  kent  the  way  to  hold  his  tongue, 
I've  threaten'd  aft  to  tear  it  frae  the  root, 
I'm  unco  sure,  in  twa,  'twad  clip'd  a  cloot, 


I 


I 


\ 


■♦■. 


THK    SECOND    SKIHT 


"3 


;ars, 
e, 


There's  nought  on  earth  wad  stop  his  dinsome  blether, 

Out  o'  a  hair  the  ass  wad  mak  a  teather ! 

He'd  jeer  and  jaw  and  say  sic  silly  things, 

I  e'en  ha'e  sworn  to  fell  him  wi'  the  tings ! 

But,  as  I  said  afore,  we  a'  sat  crackin', 

Out  bye  the  storm  did  no  appear  to  slackin'. 

Tarn  Dodds  gade  out,  but  soon  cam  ciotterin'  back, 

He  shook  wi'  cauld  and  in  the  nook  he  crap, 

'  Hech  me,'  quo  he,  *  the  storm  does  roar  and  rift, 

Ye  canna  see  a  styme  for  sleet  and  drift. 

The  night  is  dungeon  dark,  hech  !  how  it  blows, 

I  couldna  see  an  inch  afore  my  nose  ! ' 

"And  then  he  said  to  Betty,  'noo,  ma  woman, 
I  trow  this  night  your  jo'  will  no  be  comin', 
If  he  should  venture  out  frae  Cranshaw  toon. 
He  ne'er  again  will  see  his  Betty  Broon  ! 
He'll  founder  'mang  the  haggs,  or  else,  ma  feigs, 
He'll  break  his  neck  out  ower  the  Raven-craigs  ! ' 
'  Tam  Dodds,'  quoth  I,  '  lock  up  your  tinkler  jaw, 
Or  else  I'll  drive  your  head  against  the  wa'.' 
At  this  the  blockhead  chuckled  in  his  glee, 
'  Wha  kens,'  he  cried,  *  but  Betty  wad  tak'  me.' 
Now  Betty  turned  as  mad — her  een  did  flare. 
Quo'  she,  '  now,  Tam,  for  guidsake  sae  nae  mair, 
I  wadna  ha'e  (her  face  gat  red  wi'  anger) 
E'en  your  hale  bouk  for  my  jo's  little  finger  ! ' 
Now  Betty  rose  an'  e'en  gade  ben  the  ha', 
I  heard  a  scream,  and  then  I  heard  a  fa', 
I  hurried  ben,  and  there  poor  Betty  lay. 
Pale  as  a  ghost  an'  a'  her  breath  away  ! 
I  ran  for  water  wi'  a  pell-mell  race. 
And  deftly  dash'd  it  on  her  brow  and  face. 
,  Right  glad  was  I,  and  thankfu'  too,  I  ween, 
Whan  light  began  to  glimmer  in  her  een  ; 
I  raised  her  up  and  set  her  on  a  chair. 
And  O  !  how  drench'd  was  a'  her  gowden  hair. 
The  whiteness  o'  the  lily  left  her  face. 
The  blushing  rose  took  up  the  lily's  place. 


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114 


THE    SECOND    SIGHT. 


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And  then  she  spoke,  and  oh !  she  spak  sae  wae, 

I'll  mind  her  words  unto  my  dying  day. 

She  said,  as  she  gade  up  to  her  bit  kist, 

Afore  her  een  there  cam'  a  hazzie  mist, 

She  saw  her  Sandy  on  the  Felcleugh-law, 

Wand'ring  sae  weary  'mang  the  trackless  snaw, 

She  saw  him  stand,  wi'  looks  o'  wild  despair, 

He  fell,  she  thought,  to  rise  for  never  mair ! 

"  What  stuff,"  said  I,  "come  now,  gang  to  your  bed, 

That  gouk,  Tam  Dodds,  your  fancy  has  misled." 

But  oh  !  waes  me  !  unto  the  ha'  next  day 

There  cam'  a  man  to  seek  for  Sandy  Hay, 

His  track  was  found — there  on  the  Felcleugh-law 

They  found  the  poor  lad  perished  'mang  the  snaw. 

Just  at  the  spot  where  Betty  saw  him  fa' !  " 

Then  uncle  John  laid  canny  doon  his  pipe, 
And  wi'  his  sleeve  a  tear  away  did  wipe. 
And  then  he  scratch'd  an'  scarted  at  his  croon. 
Then  said  to  Grannie,  "  how  cam'  on  Bet  Broon  ?  " 
Then  ( kannie  said,  "  for  monie  a  day  an'  year. 
She  grat  and  mourned  for  him  she  held  sae  dear ; 
In  life  they  loved,  in  death  the  twa  were  pair'd — 
They  sleep  together  in  the  auld  kirk  yard  !  " 

My  Uncle  John  then  said  "  'twas  strange  and  queer 
How  Sandy's  ghost  should  to  Bet  Broon  appear, 
Your  story,  Grannie,  ca's  up  to  my  mind 
A  circumstance  o'  the  same  kith  and  kind  : 
I  mind  fu'  weel — 'twas  in  the  thirty-twa, 
I  then  was  living  up  at  East  Scarlaw, 
My  neighbor  herd,  I  wat,  was  Andrew  Reid, 
As  guid  a  man  as  e'er  possessed  a  head, 
As  guid  a  herd  as  ever  lampt  the  heather, 
And  he  and  I  were  unco  grit  thegether. 
Now  Andrew  had  a  wife,  her  name  was  Tibby, 
An  honest,  decent,  weel  respected  body. 
They  had  ae  son,  a  weel  far'd  thrivin'  bairn. 
He  was  a  genius — how  the  lad  wad  learn  ; 


rnK  si'.c(jNi)  .si(;m. 


»iS 


E'en  at  the  tabic,  wlicn  lie  supped  his  brose, 

'Tvveen  ilka  sui)  the  book  was  at  his  nose. 

He  gacle  to  schiile   -his  i)arents  fondly  hopit 

They'd  live  to  see  his  head  wag  in  a  pu'[)it, 

And  when  the  dominie  crammed  him  fu'  o'  knowledge, 

They  sent  him  aff  to-Kdinboro'  college. 

And  aft  we  heard  that  John  was  never  beaten. 

When  he  stood  up  to  blether  (ireek  and  Jiatin, 

Now  ae  professor  tried  John  sair  to  tickle, 

And  put  to  him  some  ciuestions  hard  and  kittle  ; 

John  had  him  there  !  for  just  as  (juick  as  thought 

The  ready  answer  back  to  him  he  shot ! 

The  great  professor  ga'e  an  unco  stare, 

Then  speered  at  him  where  he  had  got  his  lair? 

Then  John  stood  up,  and  answered  him  fu'  cooj. 

That  he'd  been  taught  at  Lockermacus  school  ; 

The  learned  man  ne'er  tried  again  to  puzzle  him. 

He  soon  found  out  that  John  could  fairly  muzzle  him ! 

"Atween  the  sessions,  John  wad  aye  come  hame. 
To  read  and  write,  and  rant  and  rave,  and  raim  ; 
He'd  rise  and  preach  till  he  was  like  to  choke. 
He'd  stand  and  pray  unto  his  mother's  clock  ! 
Speak  bout  coal  measures,  quartz  and  chucky-stanes, 
Bout  fossil  plants,  fish  fins  and  herrin'  banes. 
And  strive  to  show,  by  inferance  and  conjecture, 
That  Adam  was  of  recent  manufacture, 
Else  his  remains,  upon  investigation, 
Would  have  been  found  in  some  far  back  formation. 
And  that  of  Eve,  our  poor  deluded  mother. 
The  ne'er  a  hair  o'  her  can  man  discover. 
Now  monie  a  time  1  thought  his  clash  and  clavers 
Were  just  a  pack  o'  senseless  silly  havers — 
Bothering  his  brains  about  the  warld's  formation. 
Instead  of  thinking  'bout  his  soul's  salvation  ; 
'Twould  be  far  better  if  such  men  would  try 
To  teach  mankind  to  live,  and  how  to  die — 
Point  to  the  future — do  their  best  to  find 
Some  plan  or  project  to  improve  mankind. 


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,41. 


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ii6 


I'HK    SKCONI)    SKJHT. 


John  wander'd  'mang  the  hills  to  rax  his  legs, 

And  gather'd  weeds,  stanes,  beetles,  fleas'  and  clegs ; 

He  piled  the  stanes  in  cairns  in  the  garret. 

He'd  tell  ye  a'  their  names  just  like  a  parrot. 

His  father  sometimes  laughed  fu'  lang  and  crouse, 

And  say,  'John's  rocks  wad  yet  bring  down  the  house.' 

Although  he  had  some  crotchets  in  his  head, 

He  was  as  kind  a  lad  as  e'er  brak  bread ; 

The  minister  e'en  said,  wi'  nuickle  pride, 

'John  was  a  credit  to  the  country  side  ! ' 

And  e'en  the  Laird's  vveel  tocher'd  daughter  Nancy, 

Confessed  that  John  had  fairly  won  her  fancy, 

At  the  kirk-door,  or  where  she  had  a  chance. 

She'd  nod  her  head,  and  kindly  to  him  glance, 

E'en  at  the  prayers  she  wad  stand  wi'  grace. 

And  through  her  fingers  spy  his  manly  face ; 

Sic  signs  as  these,  I  trow,  gang  far  to  prove 

That  she  was  smitten  with  the  pangs  o'  love. 

"About  that  time  I  courted  a  bit  lass, 
And  I  was  sair  enamoured  wi'  her  face. 
1  thought  frae  her  if  death  would  spare  his  dart, 
I'd  do  my  utmost  to  secure  her  heart ; 
When  in  love's  coils  I  then  designed  to  mention. 
And  lay  before  her  my  mature  intention — 
To  fauld  her  to  my  breast,  and  then  in  course 
To  mak'  her  mine  for  better  or  for  worse. 
Ae  day  I  spoke  to  John,  just  at  the  random, 
That  I  would  like  to  ha'e  her  memorandum ; 
He  then  forthwith  took  up  his  chalk  and  pencil. 
And  drew  the  face  and  outlines  of  my  damsel  ; 
I  have  it  yet — but  losh  !  I'm  aff  the  track, 
Ae  day  he  went,  'twas  lang  ere  he  cam'  back ; 
And  when  he  came  he  couldna  break  his  fast. 
He  look'd  concerned  and  unco  sair  dooncast ; 
His  mother  coaxed  him  kindly  to  his  bed. 
But  O  !  that  night  an  unco  life  he  led. 
Poor  lad !  he  raved,  a  fever  had  set  in. 
And  sair  afflicted  were  his  kith  and  kin. 


JOHN    A.    URUCK,    KS(^. 


117 


At  length  the  night  ot  darkness  fled  away, 

The  sun  in  trii.mph  ushered  in  the  day, 

At  middle  day  the  fever  ran  its  course, 

And  yet  the  lad  was  growing  worse  and  worse, 

His  mother,  then  plied  aff  unto  the  toon, 

Wi'  anxious  he  'rt,  to  bring  the  doctor  doon. 

When  comin'  back  alane,  as  sure's  I'm  born, 

She  saw  John  standin'  by  the  muckle  thorn ; 

She  spoke,  she  cried,  she  screech'd  wi*  a'  her  might. 

He  glided  off  and  vanished  out  o'  sight ! 

She  ferlied  sair,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven, 

She  prayed  that  a'  her  sins  might  be  forgiven, 

Aside  the  thorn  she  laid  her  bosom  bare. 

She  prayed  that  God  her  only  son  would  spare ; 

Her  words  re-echoed  o'er  the  lonely  lea — 

'  Oh  !  lift  his  load,  and  lay  the  load  on  me  ! ' 

When  she  got  home,  how  sad  it  is  to  say. 

His  heart  was  still — his  spirit  gone  away ! 

What  tongue  can  tell  the  bitter  scene  of  grief? 

The  tears  of  anguish  could  not  bring  relief. 

Sorrow  and  sadness ! — weary  was  the  sigh- 

The  shrieks  of  anguish  smote  the  very  sky 


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•  »  • 


John    A,   Bf^uce,  Esc^,  J^amilton, 


!«!';« 


Sir  .- 


She  boundary  line — the  message  crossed  it, 
[^  That  you  the  marriage  flag  had  hoisted, 
Then  wi'  the  news  right  hame  I  posted 

Fu'  gleg  and  gay, 
And  my  ain  winsome  wife  accosted 
And  thus  did  say  : — 


10 


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'    Ki'  iiLjIh 


Il8  JOHN    A.    BRUCE,    KSQ. 

"  Hurrah  !  John's  gat  a  better-half, 
Rin  out  and  stick  the  auldest  calf, 
And  cook  it  weel — I'll  tak'  my  staff 

And  ca'  our  freens  ; 
Guidfaith  !  we'll  hae  a  hearty  yaff 

O'er  beef  and  greens." 

Then  my  guidwife  did  clasp  a  dirk, 
And  aff  she  sprang  to  do  the  wark, 
And  aff  I  scoured  to  Cameron,  Clerk, 

And  Bruce  McEwen, 
And  other  friends,  to  taste  the  stirk 

My  wife  was  stewin'. 

It  just  was  chapin'  four  o'clock. 
When  at  the  door  we  heard  a  knock ; 
My  guidwife  ran  to  change  her  frock. 

And  ca'  her  daddie. 
I  turned  the  key;  quo'  I,  "guid  folk, 

The  dinner's  ready  ! " 

Sae  down  we  sat  to  roast  and  stew. 

We  chewed  the  flesh  and  drank  the  broo, 

And  whan  our  kites  were  burstin'  fu', 

I  ca'd  the  lasses, 
"  Bairns,"  quo'  I,  "  we've  gotten  through, 

Take  aff  the  dishes." 

Then  frae  her  seat  our  Luckie  bangs. 
And  to  the  press  awa  she  gangs, 
And  brings  the  sugar  and  the  tangs. 

And  glass  and  spoon, 
Then  wi'  baith  hands  the  grey-beard  spangs, 

And  brings  it  doon. 

Now  when  the  toddy  was  approved, 
And  when  the  spirit  in  me  moved. 
Upon  my  shanks  it  me  behoved, 

To  ca'  a  truce, 
"'Come,  toast,"  quo'  I,  "ane  lang  I've  lo'ed, 

His  name  is  Bruce." 


J  said,  '<  we  fu.M 

Our  thoughts  :;;;:;«''■•-'' t'-egether, 

^hat  Bn,ce  to  me  ::,'?3;;"^  ^"o'her; 

Man  !  ho„.  I  ,if,J^«;ord  and  phrase. 

-a.the:;:Tr?'-"^ 

f  "d  to  your  b/east  W  ^""^  >'""r  "&. 

-'"■^  t>va  times  :;':^,;'""  ''^ 
^n  we  —   '  • 


119 


Whe] 


g'lt  done 


^"d  Tore  the  mr^v  f      ^"^'^  ^"^^kin'. 
7.'    party  up  was  brok 

J  'greed  ,o':„T,t'-'''°>' 


en. 


-^«..  wimye  joy 


en. 


er  e'e. 


Or, 


And  glower  and  .,..^u^^' 


'»  ^vi^  ae  fit 
Th. 


^^'i  canniejee 
-cradle  rock   '' 


,a"d  smok( 


.,  '^i 


'.',♦1  ••"If 

•Jim*. 


'lis. 


'      4 


,  » 


■■f.\ 


120 


JOHN    A.    BRUCE,    ESQ. 


■if 


h**-^ 

/ 


I'  -l'* 


"»» 


Vi.;^  N"i'  N 


fii 


.yiilip 


■1*. 


Ye'U  then  be  quits  wi'  care  and  strife, 
Ye'U  feel  the  essence  o'  this  Hfe ; 
There  sits  your  bonnie  Scottish  wife 

Nae  cares  to  cark, 
Wi'  needle,  shears  and  ripping  knife, 

Mending  your  sark ! 

'Tis  then  the  warld  may  birl  aboot. 
For  it  ye  carena  a  sheep-cloot, 
On  ilk  care  ye  plant  your  foot, 

Nae  griefs  molest, 
Ye'U  let  your  pipe  gang  heedless  out. 

Syne  slip  to  rest. 

My  Bruce  !  I  pray  for  freedom's  sake, 

The  Bruce's  line  will  never  brake. 

Their  hearts  from  right  no  power  can  shake, 

No  hand  can  turn  ; 
The  name  that  made  the  tyrant  quake, 

At  Bannockburn. 

I'm  running  out  o'  rhyme  and  clashes, 
My  muse  is  sometimes  dour  and  fashous. 
Although  at  times  awa  she  dashes. 

And  no  sae  han'less  ; 
Now,  Sir,  accept  kind  hearty  wishes 

Frae  Andrew  Wan  less. 


'ii'i 


»^''ii;S!' 


WHO    SHOULD   AND    WHO  SHOULDN'T 


121 


t'-*%\i 


Who  ^hould  and   Who   Shouldn't, 


Inscribed  to   "John  Bannermariy  Esq, 


>N  days  bygone,  when  tyrants  held  the  rod, 
The  subject  trembled  at  their  very  nod  ; 
These  days  are  changed — the  manners  growing  worse, 
<5^  Hirelings  pay  homage  to  the  longest  purse. 

I  know  a  man — a  sage  profoundly  great, — 
Who  has  for  years  contended  against  fate, 
From  morn  to  night,  with  willing  heart  and  hand, 
He'd  strive  to  be  "  a  something  "  in  the  land. 
Free  is  his  heart  from  black  deceit  and  guile — 
Vice  has  Ins  frown  and  virtue  has  his  smile. 

In  learned  circles  still  he  holds  the  sway, 
And  ticklish  points  can  make  as  clear  as  day ; 
If  doubters  doubt,  how  quick  upon  the  boards 
He'll  trip  them  up,  and  knock  them  down  with  words ; 
Yet  no  offense  is  found,  he  ne'er  is  slow 
To  pour  the  oil  upon  the  fallen  foe. 

At  evening's  close,  how  oft  with  him  I'd  walk, 
'Twas  then  I  heard  the  majesty  of  talk ; 
On  "  this  "  he'd  touch,  on  "  that  *  he  would  descant, 
His  sounding  words  ne'er  drivel'd  into  rant. 
He'd  take  a  pebble  from  the  common  ground, 
And  on  it  gaze  and  turn  it  round  and  round, 
From  small  beginnings,  clearly  he  would  trace 
Its  age,  its  properties  and  race. 
Proclaim  it  is  volcanic  in  formation, 
Then  sum  up  all  with  pointed  peroration. 


■    .*■• 


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ft-;.. 


il^iiiiii 


'It*. 


122 


WHO    SHOULD    Ax\D   WHO    SHOULDN  T. 


The  leaf  upon  the  tree — the  grassy  plant, 
With  wisdom's  aid,  on  these  he  can  descant ; 
He  knows  a  beetle  from  a  creeping  thing, 
How  reptiles  bite  and  how  the  hornets  sting. 
The  warbling  birds  that  sing  upon  the  sprey, 
With  cautious  step  he'd  listen  to  their  lay. 
Or,  stand  in  silence  lest  they'd  fly  away. 

He  e'en  can  show  how  nature's  grand  design 
Has  drawn  'tween  species  a  dividing  line ; 
Points  out  how  Darwin  in  a  wild  delusion 
Attempts  to  jumble  all  in  a  confusion ; 
Quizzes  the  "tail,"  denounces  Darwin's  plan, 
Rejects  his  theory  and  condemns  the  man 
Who  digs  in  chaos,  and  forgets  his  God, 
And  sends  his  buncombe  theories  abroad  ! 
How  oft  I've  wished  upon  our  evening  walk. 
Instead  of  me,  that  Darwin  heard  him  talk. 

The  stars  appear — the  countless  eyes  of  heaven ; 
He  knows  the  pole — and  well  he  knows  the  seven ; 
At  this  one  points  with  a  becoming  gesture, 
How  it  runs  loose,  and  that  one  is  a  fixture. 
At  times  he'll  laugh  and  say  some  curious  things. 
Scout  at  the  "  tails,"  yet  wish  that  he  had  wings 
To  fly  through  space  and  sweep  through  Saturn's  rings, 
And  in  his  towering  flight  and  trackless  way. 
Stop  and  pay  homage  to  the  god  of  day ; 
Then  back  to  earth,  to  spend  a  space  at  home — 
To  take  the  pen  and  write  a  wond'rous  tome ! 

When  wars  begin,  how  quickly  he  can  trace 
Who  will  be  victor  in  the  bloody  race, 
Denounces  men  who  by  the  cannon  stand, 
And  sweeps  destruction  o'er  a  wretched  land. 
Denounces  men  who  fawn,  and  steal  and  fib. 
And  feed  and  fatten  at  the  public  crib. 


(«-. 


WHO  SHOULD  AND  WHO  SHOUI.DN  T. 


1^3 


laven ; 
[ven; 


5S, 


I's  rings, 


Questions  he  settles,  "yes,"  and  sometimes  "no," 
And  say — "  this  statesman  should  do  so  and  so ;" 
And  in  my  ardor  I  have  often  said  : 
"  This  man  has  brains  to  be  a  nation's  head  !  " 
And  yet  this  sage  has  fallen  out  of  date, 
He  dines  with  want  upon  a  pewter  plate, 
He  stands  behind  the  scenes — has  grown  gray, 
And  like  a  vision  soon  will  pass  away, 
Or,  like  a  light  upon  some  distant  coast. 
That  flickers — fades — then  is  forever  lost ! 

*  *  #  *  >;•  ■■;■ 

There  lives  a  man,  his  name  I  need  not  tell, 
For  every  town  and  village  know  him  well, 
He  first  appeared  upon  the  public  view. 
To  run  an  errand  and  to  black  a  shoe ; 
Quick  with  his  ear  and  ready  with  the  talk. 
He  learned  to  swear,  before  he  learned  to  walk  ; 
Without  a  cap,  or  shoe  upon  his  feet, 
He'd  toss  the  copper  on  the  (^uiet  street. 
He'd  lurk  in  barns  or  on  door  steps  recline, 
When  pity  spoke,  how  well  the  knave  could  whine, 
With  hungry  throat  gulph  down  compassions  meal   - 
Laugh  in  his  sleeve — then  turn  aside  to  steal. 

Behind  a  fence,  in  some  secluded  yard. 
He  learned  to  deal  and  know  the  winning  car<l, 
He  next  began  to  swagger  and  to  smoke, 
To  sing  a  song,  and  tell  the  silly  joke. 
One  morn  we  missed  him,  and  we  did  not  mourn, 
From  hi.s  \'ile  haunts  the  little  inij)  was  torn, — 
To  where  the  sinners  have  their  ringlets  shorn. 

Some  years  had  fled,  and  he  came  back  one  c  more, 
Ten  times  more  brazen  than  he  was  before  ; 
One  day  I  saw  him  standmg  in  a  crowd, 
And  while  he  stood,  the  knave  was  talking  loud, 
And  as  the  laugh  went  round,  he  gave  a  wink, 
And  cried,  "come,  boys,  and  let  us  have  a  drink.' 


M  ... 


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124 


TIB*S    SLIGHTED    ME,    YE    KEN, 


When  next  I  saw  him,  how  my  eyes  did  stare^ 
I  heard  him  talk  and  saw  him  beat  the  air — 
"  Elect  me,  friends  !  "  the  rest  I  did  not  hear, 
I  stood  aside  to  shed  the  bitter  tear. 

He  was  elected  !  Vice  aloud  did  crow — 
And  Virtue  wept  upon  the  couch  of  woe, 
Yet,  though  the  knave  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
With  gilded  hook  he  coaxed  the  crowd  to  bite ; 
What  was  the  cause  ?  the  answer  has  no  crook ; 
He  gained  his  point  with  some  one's  pocket-book  ! 

Who  cannot  catch  the  Moral  must  be  blind. 
Hardened  in  heart — perverted  in  the  mind. 
The  lesson  may  be  learned  from  what  I've  said — 
J^eject  the  loiv  and  choose  the  higher  grade, 
Reject  the  vile  who  wear  the  brazen  brand,  * 

Elect  the  good  and  heaven  will  bless  the  land  ; 
Choose  men  of  worth — give  wisdom  power  and  place, 
Then  Faith  and  Hope  will  run  an  equal  race  t 


•  •  • 


TiB's   Slighted  j^e,   Je  J^en, 

Inscribed  to  A.  McAdaniy  Etq. 

E  night  I  knocked  at  Tibby's  door. 
The  dogs  set  up  an  unco  roar, 
Her  mother  loud  the  brutes  did  shoar, 
As  I  gade  snooling  ben. 

I  speer'd  if  "  Tibby  wasna  in  ?  " 
The  auld  wife's  specks  fell  o'er  her  chin, 
The  auld  man  claw'd  his  cuits  and  shin, 
And  said  he  "didna  ken." 

He  spak  and  speer'd  where  I  cam  frae, 
And  if  I  shank'd  it  a'  the  way  ; 
She  glower'd  at  me  frae  tap  to  tae, 
But  Tibby  ne'er  cam'  ben. 


li'' 


tie's  slighted  me,  ye  ken. 


I- 


■.'!< 


I  glanced  aye  at  the  but  house  door, 
I  heard  a  kissing  skirling  splore, 
The  sweat  broke  out  at  ilka  pore, 

Wha's  there  I'd  like  to  ken  ? 

Wi'  grief  I  scare  could  raise  my  head, 
My  heart  felt  like  a  lump  o'  lead, 
I  haflins  prayed  that  I  was  dead. 

Woes  me  !  she  ne'er  cam*  ben. 

The  auld  man  sair  did  glunch  and  gloom, 
The  wife  wad  neither  sink  or  soom. 
But  aye  she  patter'd  round  the  room, 
Like  an  auld  clockin'  hen. 

I  sat  and  ga'e  a  kind  o'  grane, 
My  head  and  heart  were  cramm'd  wi'  pain, 
Sae  daised  I  scarce  could  rise  my  lane, 
But  Tibby  ne'er  cam  ben. 

At  last,  said  I  "  I  maun  awa ;" 
The  guidman  ga'e  his  croon  a  claw, 
The  guidwife  said,  "guid  guide  us  a*, 
Its  on  the  stroke  o'  ten." 

Then  out  I  gade  wi'  hanging  lugs, 
'Mang  grunts  and  granes  and  barking  dowgs, 
My  heart  strings  ga'e  sic  rives  and  rugs, 
I  scarce  could  stand  on  en'. 

As  hame  I  gade  amang  the  weet. 
My  head  hang  o'er  twa  shorking  feet, 
I  envied  lambs  and  sheep  wha  bleet, 
And  fend  upon  the  fen. 

Unmindfu'  o'  the  guns  and  snares, 
I  envied  e'en  the  maping  hares, 
The  very  brownies  in  their  lairs — 
Tib's  slighted  me  ye  ken. 


V, 


a  I 


f 


126 


THK  WIFE  AND  THE  BREEKS. 


■:::^m 


1*  ' 


•I. 


^'i;2!!  : 


S':    Nil! 


^;  iiiiill!!;;!*" 


The   Wife   and   the   Pf\eeks. 

Inscribed  to  yohn   McCormkk^   Eiq, 


PON  an  afternoon  o'  Monday, 
I  sat  geek,  geckin'  at  the  winday ; 
Brightly  the  sun  shone  in  the  sky ; 
The  smirkin'  lasses  trippit  by. 
The  dogs  about  the  street  were  friskin'. 
The  lazy  cows  their  tails  were  whiskin'. 
The  bees  were  humming  round  the  rose, 
And  gathering  honey  I  suppose. 
In-doors  my  ain  respected  wife 
Seemed  to  renew  her  tak  o'  life  : 
E'en  grannie  laid  aside  her  sadness. 
And  leugh  wi'  childish  glee  and  gladness  ; 
Aboot  the  floor  our  bairns  were  birlin'. 
And  like  to  deave  us  wi'  their  skirlin' ; 
And  there  I  sat  upon  the  Monday — 
Geckin'  and  glowerin'  out  the  winday. 
Sudden  the  sky  became  o'ercast, 
Hark  !  to  the  rumb'ling  distant  blast. 
The  cluds  were  gathering  black  and  dour, 
Here  comes  the  swirlin'  blindin'  stoure. 
"  Grannie  !  by  Jupiter  the  rain 
Is  splatterin*  on  the  window  pane ; " 
And  as  I  sat,  as  quick  as  wink 
Out  door  I  saw  a  wife  play  jink  ; 
In  her  right  hand  she  stevely  graspit 
A  muckle  mouthed  twa-handed  basket. 
Though  quick  she  ran,  I  yet  could  trace 
Grim  desperation  in  her  face. 


T 


THE    \V[FK    AND    THK 


'fHKKKS. 


Hark  ! 


127 


grannie,  to  that  thunder  neel 
oce  ;  cnere's  the  wife  nt  fK  i  ^^'' 
Quick  frae  the  linTZ    i    ''''''''  '^'^'• 

As  round  antoZVJTr!'"'  '''''^''' 
^ovvn  comes  tlie  mutch  [J  ^''"^''^  ^"^^^^^'^*' 
Ho^v  ghfr  she  vnrT    ,   '.'''-''^■^^'^'^  ""^^  ciaidle 

^^'Uid  guide  u    V     r^  ?  ""^?  '^^^^^^ 

|i-'sfornitrv;\;L:r.!:-^^ 

pt  u  ureeks  a  suierle  nnir  ■ 

Then  quick  as  wink  :  v^l'e  1°:'"'  '"^■^' 
And  dashes  them  aboon  the  c?^!. 

And  why  she  left  them  to  the  end 

sie.krr;eer4rt.f,^,d-'. 

An  idiot  could  exDlainft  ''°°'' 
«he  saved  the  breek '"  ^  ""T'- 
"CJrannie,  I  swear  b'°      I  '^"^  ^'■"'-■'•■" 

o^^srxTtiSf :?' 

Hait^ist  denounc'edlTf?  ''''  P"-'--'^  i^ 
Which  plainly  S  whe^'lSr'^  '^^^'^«' 
rhe.r  w„,s  are  just  a  perfecTJa    re  """' 


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J? 


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128 


THK    WIIK    AN1>   THK    HRKKK.S. 


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If    "^ 

1^    .', 


"1  "  'f    It'  ■  1  ff  ■■ 


h  -  mM'm 

ill  iH  I!  ma 


Now  a'  yc  sages  far  and  wide, 
Wha  on  your  hobby  horses  ride, 
Wha  cock  your  nose  and  look  sae  wise 
Aboot  the  hidden  mysteries, 
Wha  can  explain,  wi'  great  pretension, 
Things  far  ayont  our  comprehension. 
And  kittle  questions  cjuick  can  solve. 
How  planets  round  the  sun  revolve. 
Why  light'nings  flash  and  thunder  rolls. 
And  how  the  earth  aboot  the  polls 
Turns  round  and  round  like  a  claes  reel, 
Or  like  an  auld  wife's  spinnin'  wheel. 
My  certy  !  they  tell  mair  than  that. 
They  say  the  warld's  ends  are  flat. 
If  sae,  guidfaith  she's  better  manners. 
Than  lasses  wha  wear  pads  and  panners. 

E'en  ministers,  whan  in  the  pu'pit. 
Roar  till  their  throats  are  dry  and  roupit ; 
The  lives  o'  defunct  Jews  expoundin', 
And  godlessness  with  God  confoundin' ; 
Preaching  'bout  men  whose  very  name 
Stands  tapmaist  on  the  rolls  o'  shame ; 
And  what  is  curious  and  surprising, 
For  their  black  deeds  apologizing  ! 
Ye  ministers,  come,  mend  your  manners. 
And  never  mind  the  ancient  sinners, 
Come,  try  your  eloquence  and  art, 
Upon  the  living  sinners  heart ; 
So  by  your  precept  and  example 
Ye  may  convert  a  better  sample  : 
A  living  dog,  ye  ken  it's  said. 
Is  better  than  a  lion  dead. 
Yet,  deil  a  ane  o'  ye  can  tell, 
Nae  better  than  I  could  myseV, 
Why  the  guidwife  upon  the  cleeks 
Left  to  the  last  the  guidman's  breeks  ? 
Which  shows  that  men  and  geese  may  cackle. 
And  yet  no  just  ken  extra  muckle  ! 


»'■  iijii'i'  I 

ii.iii:i;iiiiiiiti.M;ili  • 


JEAN    AND 


\LD. 


129 


Jean   and   Donald ; 


OR,    THE    SMASHING    OF    THE    TEA-POT. 


A  TRUE  STORY. 


Inscribed  to   Neil  Taylor^   Esp 


A  number  of  people  of  the  present  generation,  I  have  no  doubt,  can 
well  remember  the  time  when  tea  was  considered  a  great  rarity  in 
Scotland,  especially  in  the  rural  districts.  Those  who  were  in  the  habit 
of  indulging  in  that  beverage  were  looked  upon  by  many  as  deluded 
mortals,  and  considered  to  be  no  better  than  the  opium  eater  of  our  own 
period.  In  fact,  the  greater  number  of  the  inhabitants  knew  as  little 
about  tea  as  a  cat  knows  about  a  snufF  box.  In  corroboration  of  this, 
an  old  woman,  called  Tibby  Gourlay,  who  lived  in  the  parish  of 
Westruther,  one  day  fell  very  sick  of  an  "  onfa,"  for  which  no  remedy 
could  be  obtained.  The  distressing  news  of  Tibby's  sickness  reached  the 
ears  of  the  lady  of  Spottiswood,  who  immediately  dispatched  a  servant 
with  a  quantity  of  tea  to  be  administered  to  the  invalid.  The  tea  was 
tumbled  into  a  porridge  pot  along  with  a  quantity  of  water,  and  then 
boiled  for  a  considerable  time  j  the  water  was  then  thrown  out  of  doors, 
and  the  leaves  mashed  up  with  butter,  pepper  and  salt,  and  this  mess 
was  then  served  up  to  Tibby,  who  ate  the  whole  with  great  energy  and 
delight.  Next  morning,  strange  to  tell,  she  was  able  to  be  up  with  the 
sun,  and  accomplished  a  heavy  day's  spinning  on  the  big  wheel  to  the 
satisfaction  of  herself  and  all  concerned.  She  died  about  thirty  years 
ago,  aged  ninety-nine.  The  following  is  written,  not  upon  Tibby,  but 
upon  Jean  and  Donald,  who  were  born  and  brought  up  in  another  part 
of  the  Heather  Isle. 
IZ 


A- 


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130 


JEAN    AND    DONA  I,  n. 


>N  Islay's  fine  and  fertile  isle, 
All  in  the  county  of  Argyle, 
There  Donald  lived,  wha  had  a  wife, 
The  dread  and  torment  o'  his  life  ; 
Afore  he  claimed  Jean  as  his  l)ride. 
She  e'en  had  traveled  unco  wide. 
And  learned  to  turn  up  her  nose 
At  pease  meal  bannocks  and  at  brose  ! 
Ae  year  she  winter'd  'bout  Dunbarton, 
And  tied  her  stockin'  wi'  a  garten  ; 
She  even  tried  hard  to  get  married, 
But  a'  her  purposes  miscarried ; 
She  had  no  friends  about  Alaska, 
But  had  an  aunt  wha  lived  in  Glasgow, 
Sae  faith,  she  mounted  on  a  coach. 
And  to  that  city  she  did  hotch. 
When  there  she  fell  in  deep  dejection, 
For  she  had  lost  her  aunt's  direction. 
She  speered  at  folk  and  bairns  in  plenty. 
If  they  ken'd  aught  aboot  her  aunty  ? 
At  last  by  kind  o'  luck  or  fate, 
She  faund  her  in  the  Gallowgate. 
Her  aunty  was  a  lonely  woman. 
She  didna  ken  her  niece  was  comin'; 
She  gave  a  jump — she  stood  amazed 
When  on  the  stranger's  form  she  gazed ! 
Then  both  did  raise  an  Islay  yell, 
When  in  ilk  other's  arm  they  fell ! 
Then  Jean  exclaimed,  "my  woe  is  past, 
I've  found  my  aunty  at  the  last." 


:';^.. 


w<» 


m 


\ 


How  nice  it  is  on  some  occasions. 
To  meet  with  one's  own  blood  relations. 
But  sweeter  far  'tis  to  the  lover. 
To  meet  and  kiss  and  hug  the  other ; 
High  is  that  love,  'tis  oft  hysteric, 
And  far  above  my  panegyric. 


JKAN    AND    DONALD. 


131 


^t 


past, 


Ions, 


O  !  love,  fain  would  I  thee  extol — 
The  prop  and  centre  of  the  soul ! 

Tiie  aunt  then  said,  "  my  darling  niece, 
In  si/e  yeVe  made  a  great  increase, 
'I'is  only  twenty  years  by-gane 
Ye  couldna  stand  vour  leefu'  lane  ! 
Guidfaith  !  ye're  now  a  winsome  straper 
As  ever  gaed  in  gown  or  wrai)per, 
My  certy  !  ye're  as  fine  a  lass 
As  e'er  keek'd  in  a  looking  glass  ; 
Gang  down  the  stair,  my  niece,  so  dear, 
And  bring  me  up  a  jug  o'  beer, 
A  drop  o'  beer  in  glass  or  measure. 
Will  calm  my  heart  that  loups  wi'  pleasure. 
And  after  that,  'tween  you  and  me, 
I'll  mask  a  hair  o'  guid  black  tea." 
These  words  were  barely  out  her  lips, 
When  down  the  stairs  Miss  Jeanie  trips. 
And  brings  her  aunty  up  a  jug 
O'  beer  filled  to  the  very  lug ; 
Sae  soon  as  they  the  liquor  tasted, 
Their  tongues  for  no  a  minit  rested. 

When  aunty  gat  the  tea  things  ready. 
Miss  Jean  sat  down  just  like  my  lady, 
And  aye  she  took  the  other  sup, 
Then  raised  her  neb  up  frae  the  cup — 
Twisting  her  head — see  there,  look  at  her, 
Just  like  a  hen  whan  drinking  water ; 
Her  aunt  gecked  at  her  with  affection, 
Jean  thought  hersel'  complete  perfection  ! 

'Tis  strange  that  poor  deluded  craters 
Will  ape  the  manners  o'  their  betters, 
And  turn  and  twist,  and  put  on  airs. 
Like  horses  ai  the  country  fairs  ! 
'Tis  a  disease  bred  in  the  bone. 
It  rages  rife  frae  zone  to  zone, 


••< 


»«?•*' 


il 


^ 

If.-    ' 


f 
i 


132 


JEAN   AND    DONALD. 


<: ,' 

'•p..-,- 

■^■- 

I- .  1 

\M 

■-t'i 

,«ll 


Pi:' 


%'"' 


,11,  .  ,  ...  WA; 
|'",'(!SIU.,  'It;. 


P^'h 


Wi'  this  e'en  Hornie  was  diseased, 
Whan  frae  the  heaven's  he  was  heezed, 
But  faith,  another  sang  he  routit, 
Whan  'mang  the  brimstone  he  was  coupit ! 
Folk  !  folk,  I  pray,  tak'  my  example. 
And  no  in  Satan's  footsteps  trample. 
The  bard  wi'  kicks  frae  fortune's  foot, 
Has  gat  his  pride  clean  knockit  out. 
If  ony's  left,  whan  a'  is  dune, 
It  wadna  lade  a  mustard  spoon  ! 

Whan  at  their  tea,  midst  joke  and  crack, 
The  auld  aunt's  mind  gade  wand'ring  back 
To  times  whan  she  did  hear  the  roar 
O'  billows  lashing  Islay's  shore  ! 
Then  she  inquired  *'  if  ducks  and  drakes  • 
Aye  swam  about  the  coves  and  lakes ; 
And  if  the  fowls  in  pairs  and  flocks 
Still  bred  amang  the  muckle  rocks ; 
And  if  Neil  Taylor  still  gangs  out 
To  blister  horses,  dogs  and  nowte ; 
And  if  his  wife,  and  bairnies  monie, 
Are  a'  as  guid  as  they  are  bonnie ; 
If  Duncan  Campbell  blythe  was  singin', 
And  to  the  island  still  was  hingin', 
And  if  his  thirty-second  cousin 
Had  now  o'  weans  a  baker's  dizen  ?  " 
To  a'  these  questions,  and  far  mair, 
Miss  Jean  made  answer  on  the  square. 

For  sax  lang  weeks  the  twa  were  bousin', 
Balth  night  and  day  they  were  carousin' ; 
At  length  whan  tea  and  toast  gat  scanty, 
Miss  Jean  did  say  unto  her  aunty  : 
"  I  trow  I'll  gang  the  road  I  came, 
I'm  grienin'  sairly  to  gang  hame, 
I've  gi'en  ye  now  a  guid  lang  ca'. 
I'm  sure  it's  time  I  was  awa." 


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JEAN    AND   DONALD. 


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The  twa  shook  hands,  then  aff  Jean  flounced, 
And  down  her  grannie's  stair  she  pounced. 
She  darted  for  the  Broomielaw, 
Whan  she  gat  there  how  she  did  blaw  : 
It  was  nae  lang  ere  down  the  Clyde, 
Wi'  Jean  on  board,  a  ship  did  glide. 

Sweet  stream  !  O,  may  thou  aye  meander. 
On  earth  there  is  nae  river  grander  ! 
By  thee  a  bonnie  lass  I  courted, 
Wi'  my  fond  heart  she  played  and  sported ; 
My  lovely,  fair-haired,  blooming  Susan 
Did  prove  to  be  a  mere  delusion  ! 
I'd  sing  o'  Clyde  with  livelier  glee 
If  Susan  hadna  slighted  me ; 
False  maid  !  she  shot  a  cruel  dart 
That  still  is  stickin'  in  my  heart ! 
Both  night  and  day  I  have  a  doubt 
That  time  will  never  drag  it  out. 

Now  twenty  hours  it  took,  or  more. 
To  land  Miss  Jean  on  Islay's  shore ; 
As  Donald  stood  upon  the  key 
His  future  wife  he  chanced  to  see. 
Though  he  was  unco  short  o'  sight, 
He  saw  her  frae  the  ship  alight. 
She  hadna  been  on  shore  a  week, 
Till  he  on  her  again  did  keek, 
Then  o'er  the  lugs  in  love  he  sluced 
Sae  soon  as  he  was  introduced. 

Arouse,  my  muse  !  spread  wide  your  wing, 
'Bout  Donald  and  his  darling  sing. 
His  love  was  not  an  idle  dream, 
'Twas  higher  than  the  rainbow's  rim. 
Yes,  Donald's  love,  before  he  wed, 
Was  deeper  than  the  oceans  bed  ! 
'Twas  brighter  than  an  infant's  eye. 
And  fairer  than  the  summer's  sky  : 
Jean's  heart  was  like  a  stream  run  dr}-. 


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J  KAN    AND    DONALD. 


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How  Jean  did  giggle,  smile  and  smirk, 
When  she  led  Donald  to  the  kirk, 
And  when  the  nuptial  knot  was  tied 
Wi'  love  poor  Donald  shook  and  sighed, 
But  Jean  did  stand,  the  graceless  limmer, 
Thinking  'bout  nothing  but  her  dinner ! 
When  they  gat  hame  to  marriage  feast, 
I  needna  say  Jean  did  her  best. 
She  tried  the  pork,  the  beef  and  ham. 
Pig's  feet,  hen's  legs  and  roasted  lamb  ; 
But  for  the  baddies  and  the  herrin' 
She  said  she  wasna'  muckle  carein'. 
Then  she  devoured  as  a  desert 
A  moderate  share  o'  tea  and  tart. 

Ten  years  flew  by  o'  married  life — 
Ten  years  o'  badg'ring,  bick'ring  strife  ; 
Love  out  their  door  slink'd  aff  wi'  passion, 
As  care  and  hardship  took  possession  ! 
Poor  Donald  gat  as  lean's  a  craw. 
And  ilka  day  away  did  fa', 
He  just  was  perfect  skin  and  bane. 
Yet  still,  he  ne'er  complained  o'  pain. 
Though  want  was  in  poor  Donald's  spoon, 
Jean's  face  was  like  the  rising  moon  ! 
She  managed  weel,  in  spite  o'  fate. 
To  aye  hae  plenty  on  her  plate, 
She  turned  a  kind  o'  tousy  drab. 
And  thought  'bout  nothing  but  her  gab ! 

It  fell  upon  an  afternoon 
Whan  Donald's  wark  was  early  done, 
As  he  was  cannie  slinkin'  hame. 
He  thought  he'd  cheat  his  sturdy  dame, 
And  buy  a  half  a  pound  o'  butter. 
And  ha'e  a  kind  o'  secret  supper ; 
He  gained  his  door  and  in  his  garret 
He  creepit  like  an  evil  spirit. 


JEAN    AND    DONALD. 


^35 


He  glow'red  about — his  wife  was  missin' 
He  thought  that  wac  a  heaven's  blessin', 
Then  frae  the  press  ht  took  a  platter 
And  on  it  slaster'd  a'  the  butter, 
Then  set  it  down  upon  the  dresser. 

When  rinnin'  out  to  get  some  meal 

He  ran  against  daft  Rab  McNeil ; 

"  Gang  in,"  he  said,  "  I'll  soon  b^  back, 

Syne  Rabbie,  we  will  ha'e  a  crack." 

Poor  Donald  (e\t  a  wee  contented, 

As  things  were  working  a»  he  wanted. 

Now  ben  the  house  daft  Rab'.'^e  goes — 

He  saw  the  butter  'fore  his  nose. 

And  then  the  poor  misguided  lad 

Did  hide  it  underneath  the  bed ! 

Back  Donald  cam',  wi'  strange  surprise, 

He  scarcely  could  believe  his  eyes, 

He  glow'red,  he  gave  a  dismal  groan — 

Then  roared,  "  where  is  the  butter  gone  ?  '* 

Now  Rab  did  on  his  cande  clat, 

"  The  thief,"  he  said,  "  must  be  the  cat.'* 

Then  Donald  swore  unto  his  frien', 

If  on  the  brute  he'd  clap  his  e'en. 

He'd  wring  her  neck  just  like  a  craw, 

And  dash  her  head  against  the  wa', 

He'd  gi'e  her  sic  a  fearfu'  blatter. 

She  ne'er  again  wad  steal  his  butter ! 

"  For  that,"  quo'  Rab,  "  ye  needna  grane — 

See  !  there  she  sits  on  the  jamb  stane  ! " 

Then  Donald  whispers,  "Rab,  be  quick. 

And  rax  me  ower  that  muckle  stick, 

And  I  will  gi'e  her  sic  a  billet 

Will  mak'  her  life  flee  up  her  gullet !  " 

As  Rabbie  handed  ower  the  rung, 
Grim  silence  sat  on  Donald's  tongue, 
His  mouth  and  e'en  were  open  wide, 
As  on  his  tiptoes  he  did  glide, 


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JEAN    AND    DOXA[,D. 


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He  raised  the  rung  aboon  his  croon, 

Wi'  fearfu'  yerk  the  rung  cam'  doon  ! 

A  something  ga'e  a  crack — a  crash — 

A  something  on  his  face  played  splash ; 

Then  Donald  yelled,  "I'm  dead  !  I'm  gone  I 

I'm  burning  to  the  very  bone  ! 

Cat's  blood  is  just  as  hot  as  fire. 

Oh  !  Rabbie,  come,  till  I  expire  ! " 

Then  Rabbie  roared,  "  YeVe  missed  the  cat 

And  smashed  to  atoms  the  tea-pat ! " 

Then  Donald  howled,  "  the  deil  tak'  me, 

I  never  kent  Jean  swallow'd  tea, 

I  ken  it  now,  and  here  I  swear  it, 

Henceforth  she'll  never  drink  na  mair  o't, 

I'll  put  an  end  to  her  extortion. 

For  death  this  night  will  be  her  portion  ! 

This  night  I'll  mak'  her  change  her  pasture, 

My  faith  !  but  she's  a  fine  tea  waster ; 

She'll  live  on  tea  and  finely  fare. 

While  I  maun  gang,  I  do  declare, 

Just  like  a  wraith  ai^oon  the  gnmd, 

And  live  on  brose  and  heaven's  wind  ! 

Her  black  misdeeds  ha'e  now  nae  clock. 

She's  let  her  cat  clean  out  the  poke  ! " 

As  Donald  ended  this  harangue. 

His  wife  into  the  house  played  bang, 

And  as  the  twa  began  to  roar. 

Prudence  step'd  up  and  shut  the  door. 

EPITAPH. 

Donald  is  gane — his  cares  are  o'er — 
He  sleeps  on  Islay's  fertile  shore. 
Cats  he'll  ne'er  mistake  again 
For  teapots  standin'  on  jamb  stane, 
Nae  butter  he  needs  in  his  brose, 
His  sad  career  is  at  a  close  ! 
And  Jean,  his  wife,  now  lies  at  rest 
Upon  his  cold  and  lifeless  breast. 


4'. 


A   WEAK    MAN    AND    A    STRONG    WOMEN. 


137 


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A  Weak  M.an  and  a  Strong  Woman. 

Inscribed  to  C.   Tyncr^  ^'9-*  Hamiltcn^   Ont.y  an  unco  auld  friend, 

E  met  beneath  the  trysting  tree. 
The  light  o'  love  was  in  her  e'e, 
I  knew  her  love  was  a'  for  me, 

That  Peggy  would  be  mine. 

We  wandei'd  o'er  the  flow'ry  brae, 
To  where  the  rippling  waters  play, 
I  kissed  her  lips,  she  ne'er  said  nay, 
I  thought  she  was  divine. 

I  saw  the  blush  upon  her  cheek, 
I  heard  her  words  sae  mild  and  meek, 
Wi'  joy  I  scarce  could  stand  or  speak. 
Such  love  there  was  lang-syne. 

Soon  we  were  wed,  what  next  befell 
I  think  black  burning  shame  to  tell. 
For  soon  her  tongue  went  like  a  bell. 
With  grief  sair  I  did  pine. 

She  aften  swinged  me  afif  my  chair. 
She  filled  my  heart  with  black  despair. 
And  loaded  me  wi'  tons  o'  care, 
As  ye  may  well  opine. 

If  she  had  yatter'd  wi'  her  tongue. 
And  been  less  free  to  use  the  rung, 
To  her,  through  life,  I  might  ha'e  clung, 
And  thought  my  lot  was  fine. 

I've  heard  some  wives  when  things  went  'rang. 
Would  whistle  up,  or  sing  a  sang, 
But  Peg,  wi'  rage,  my  throat  would  spang — 
Afore  1  counted  nine. 


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A   WEAK    MAN    AND    A    STRONG    WOMAN. 


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I'll  saddle  up  my  pacing  horse, 
And  heckle  her  wi'  a  div^orce  ; 
Then  she  may  live  with  black  remorse — 
She'll  never  more  be  mine. 

By  night  and  day,  I'll  seek  a  wife 
Who  will  bring  comfort  to  my  life. 
We'll  feast  on  love  and  fast  from  strife — 
And  aye  with  Cupid  dine. 

But  Peg  saw  me  girth  up  my  steed, 
Slap-dash  she  came  with  headlang  speed  ! 
And  like  a  vice  she  held  my  head 
And  grasped  the  halter  line  ! 

She  cried,  "  ye  sumph,  gang  in  the  house," 
I  sleekit  in  just  like  a  mouse, 
Hech  me  !  I  didna  craw  sae  crouse. 
But  sore  did  fidge  and  whine. 

I  thought  it  best  to  bow  and  bend, 
And  think  upon  my  latter  end. 
For  Oh  !  she  gave  me  such  a  send 
As  nearly  broke  n\y  spine. 

**  Oh  !  Peg,"  I  yelled,  "  take  in  the  horse, 
I  ne'er  will  ride  for  a  divorce. 
Have  mercy,  or  ye'U  end  my  course — 
Wi'  that  lang  halter  line." 

As  Tam  ga'e  the  last  sentence  vent, 
Instanter,  Peg  did  sair  repent. 
To  hug  and  kiss  they  briskly  went, 
Fu'  canty  and  fu'  fine. 

Now  ilka  man,  baith  far  and  near, 
Just  gi'e  your  wife  your  breeks  to  wear, 
And  let  her  still  the  helm  steer. 
As  Adam  did  lang  syne. 

Your  life  will  be  a  honeymoon. 
If  ye  just  coax  her  into  tune, 
And  feed  her  wi'  a  soothing  spoon — 
And  swear  she  is  divine  ! 


A    RtFORMATION. 


139 


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h   Refoi^mation, 


Inscribed  to   ff^ylie  Niehoriy  Eso. 


e, 


PON  a  cold  and  rainy  night, 
When  moon  {ind  stars  were  out  of  sight, 
A-coming  down  the  lonely  street, 
A  little  child  I  chanced  to  meet ; 
The  wee  bit  lassie's  feet  were  bare, 
The  rain  had  droukit  a'  her  hair. 
And  as  the  child  came  running  near, 
I  trow  her  heart  was  tilled  wi'  fear ; 
A  something  whisper'd  me  to  stand, 
I  took  her  kindly  by  the  hand, 
Then  said,  "  my  child,  what  is  amiss, 
To  bring  ye  out  a  night  like  this  ?  " 
The  lassie  hung  her  head  wi'  shame. 
Then  said,  "  Oh  !  sir,  come  to  our  hame  ; " 
I  strok'd  the  bonnie  bairnies  hair, 
I  carried  her  wi'  cannie  care ; 
The  rain  in  torrents  still  did  pour 
As  we  twa  reached  her  father's  door. 
Within  the  house  I  heard  a  moan — 
A  shriek — a  wild  unearthly  groan  ; 
I  saw  a  sight — a  man  was  there 
Sunk  in  the  depths  of  black  despair. 
His  bloodshot  eyes  were  staring  wild, 
Anon  he  wept  just  like  a  child, 
And  then  with  terror  loud  did  yell. 
Contending  with  an  inward  hell. 


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A    REFORMATION. 


Then  on  the  ground  lie  down  would  lie 

To  wrestle  with  his  agony  ! 

He  trembling  crouch'd  with  fear  and  dread, 

The  demons  hovered  round  his  head, 

He  prayed,  he  cried  on  bended  knee — 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  " 

I  said,  **  may  heaven  hear  the  prayer. 

And  calm  the  bosom  of  despair." 

The  litde  child,  Oh  !  how  she  wept. 

As  to  her  father's  side  she  cript, 

He  clasped  her  to  his  frenzied  breast, 

And  tenderly  her  lips  he  pressed ; 

And  as  the  tears  fell  down  like  rain, 

He  cried,  "  no  drink  I'll  touch  again  !  " 

His  "  ministering  angel "  came. 

He  called  her  kindly  by  her  name, 

Then  said,  "  from  drink  I  stop  this  night. 

Henceforth  I'll  be  a  Rechabite." 

He  kept  his  word,  contentment  reigns, 
He  broke  the  drunkard's  galling  chains, 
Now  peace  and  plenty  smile  once  more, 
And  poverty  has  left  his  door. 

Join,  brothers,  then  with  heart  and  hand. 
The  seed  of  Hope  sow  in  the  land, 
And  strive  with  all  your  might  to  save 
The  drunkard  from  the  drunkard's  grave. 


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A    .sri)'|(  M    SANCSlKk  S    (OMfN 


141 


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A   Scotch    Sangstef^'s    Comin' 


Inscribed  to    T.   Alt  Gregory   Esq.y   President  of  St.   Andrew's  Scciety^ 

Detroit. 


N  Monda\ ,  in  St.  Andrew's  Ha'" 
Rally  !  men  and  britliers  a\ 
Send  the  news  baith  fiir  and  near 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here  ! 
Deck'd  fu'  braw  in  Highland  kilt. 
He  will  sing  us  monie  a  lilt 
'Bout  aiild  ScoUand's  heath'ry  hills, 
Birken  glens  and  wimplin'  rills, 
Where  the  lav'rocks  sweetly  sing, 
Where  the  bonnie  blue  bells  spring. 
Hame  !  we'll  ne'er  forget  a\a 
"Till  our  latest  breath  we  draw. 

While  the  dai.sy  decks  the  lea. 
Scotia's  sangs  will  never  dee — 
Floating  down  time's  silent  river, 
Time  and  they  will  die  together  : 
Send  the  news  baith  far  and  near, 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here  ! 
Nane  like  him  our  sangs  can  han'le- 
He's  the  lad  to  hand  the  can'le  ; 
Sangs  o'  Scotland  he  will  sing, 
Will  make  the  very  rafters  ring ; 
Sangs  o'  dule  and  dark  despair, 
Will  mak'  us  rug  and  rive  our  hair, 
Sangs  wi'  monie  a  weary  mane. 
Wad  melt  a  very  heart  o'  stane ; 


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142 


A    SCOTCH    SANGSIER'S   COMIN'. 


Sangs  o'  love,  o'  joy,  and  fear. 
Heartfelt  words  forever  dear. 

Come  ye  lasses  blythe  and  braw, 
Welcome  to  St.  Andrew's  ha' ! 
His  funny  cracks  will  mak*  for  weeks 
The  tears  rin  down  your  bonnie  cheeks, 
Folk  !  ye  manna  stay  at  hame, 
That  wad  be  a  bumin'  shame — 
Send  the  news  baith  far  and  near, 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here. 


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143 


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SONGS. 


rRAiGiE    Castle. 


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Air — Catherine  Ogie. 

Upon  a  rocky  bank  of  the  clear  winding  Dye,  in  a  beautiful  and  se- 
cluded dell,  the  ruins  of  Craigie  Castle  can  still  be  seen.  Some  years 
ago,  it  was  a  favorite  amusement  of  the  school  boys  to  hurl  the  stones  of 
this  ruin  down  the  deep  declivity,  and  with  something  akin  to  awe, 
watch  them,  as  they  rolled,  dashed  and  plunged  into  the  pool  below,  A 
little  to  the  right  of  this  ruin  is  Peel  Hill,  where  a  fine  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding district  can  be  obtained.  FVom  its  name  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  that  upon  its  top  the  beacon  fire  has  often  been  kindled  to  warn 
the  inhabitants  that  danger  was  near — th.it  the  enemy  was  approaching. 
There  is  every  evidence  to  show  that  the  Lammermoors,  being  so  near 
the  Scotch  and  English  borders,  must  have  been  the  scene  of  many  a 
deadly  conflict.     There  is  a  tradition  that  the  Dye  received  its  name  from 


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t.KAi(;ii;  cAsii.i;. 


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its  being  literally  dyed  witli  tlic  blood  of'  the  slain.  To  the  west  of  Feel 
Hill  is  a  place  called  Main-Slaughter-law,  where  the  turf  and  peat  dig- 
gers have  frequently  turned  up  the  implements  of  warfare. 

In  this  vicinity,  also,  there  is  an  Otterburn,  and  the  writer  in  tlic 
*'  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland  "  surmises  tl  at  this  may  have  been  the 
ground  where  the  celebrated  battle  of  that  name  took  place.  Some 
miles  distant,  upon  a  high  elevation,  stand  the  Twin-law  Cairns,  regard- 
ing which,  tradition  has  it,  that  in  view  of  the  two  armies  of  the  Ficts 
and  Scots  a  deadly  conflict  took  place  between  twin  brothers.  One  of 
the  brothers  had  been  stolen  in  his  infancy  by  the  Picts,  and  as  the  two 
fell  to  rise  no  more  an  aged  warrior  made  known  their  relationship. 
Tradition  also  says  that  the  soldiers  of  both  armies  formed  a  line  of  some 
miles  in  extent  and  handed  stones  from  one  to  another  from  the  bed  of 
the  stream  of  Watch  to  build  the  Cairns,  which  remain  to  this  day. 
Regarding  this  tradition,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson,  of  Westruthcr,  pub- 
lished in  the  work,  before  mentioned  a  beautiful  ballad  that  escaped  the 
researches  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  while  compiling  his  "  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,"  and  which  the  reverend  gentleman  wrote  down  from 
the  recital  of  two  old  men,  who  resided  in  that  locality.  , 

'  The  following  ballad  is  founded  on  a  tradition  that  the  lord  of  the 
castle  before  mentioned  had  gone  to  the  wars,  and  left  his  young  wife  to 
mourn  his  absence  for  "  twice  seven  long  months  "  and  that  on  a  moon- 
light night  she  heard  the  drum  beat.  She  ran  to  the  turret  of  the  castle 
overlooking  the  Dye,  and  while  there  she  observed  her  lord  make  a 
dangerous  hap  across  the  stream  at  a  place  called  the  "  Darin-step,"  and 
from  this  cause  it  is  said,  her  strength  forsook  her,  and  the  child  she 
held  in  her  arms  fell  into  the  abyss  below.     The  ballad  tells  the  rest. 

H  E  sun  had  set  ayont  the  hill, 

The  moon  on  high  was  creeping, 
When  on  her  couch  a  lady  flxir 

Wi'  sorrow  sair  was  weeping ; 
And  aye  she  wrung  her  milk-white  hands, 

And  frae  her  e'en  sae  bonny 
The  waefu'  tears  ran  rowin'  doon, 

Unseen,  unkent  by  ony. 


west  of"  Feel 
ami  peat  dijj- 

writer  in  the 
have  been  the 
plate.  Some 
IJairns,  regard- 

of  the  Ficts 
ers.  One  of 
nd  as  the  two 
r  relationship, 
a  line  of  some 
)m  the  bed  of 
in  to  this  day. 
istruther,  pub- 
at  escaped  the 
strelsy  of  the 
ite  down  from 

le  lord  of  the 
young  wife  to 
it  on  a  moon- 
t  of  the  castle 

lord  make  a 
rin-step,"  and 
the  child  she 

Is  the  rest. 


Is, 


(iRAI(;iK    CAS  II, K. 


>45 


Her  lord  was  e'en  as  brave  a  knii^lit 

As  e'er  wore  kilt  or  j)la(lie  ; 
Now  he  has  ^^one  unto  tlie  wars 

And  left  his  winsome  lady. 
He  bade  farewell  unto  his  bride, 

He  kissed  lier  lips  sae  bonny, 
He's  kissed  her  ower  and  ower  ag;iin. 

She's  glen  him  kisses  monie. 

Now  he  has  buckled  on  his  sword, 

His  gallant  steed  is  ready ; 
The  waesome  tears  fell  ower  his  cheek 

When  jxirting  frae  his  lady. 
Twice  seven  lang  months  had  lied  away  ; 

Her  wounded  heart  was  breakin\ 
For  still  the  thought  wad  come  and  go — 

That  she  was  left  forsaken. 

And  aye  she  wrung  her  lily  hands 

Ul)on  the  bed  of  sorrow, 
And  sair  she  longed  again  to  see 

The  dawin'  o*  the  morrow. 
She  clasp'd  her  infant  to  her  breast, 

vShe  heard  the  distant  drumming, 
Wi'  joy  she  climbed  the  turret  high 

To  watch  her  true  knight  coming. 

She  saw  him  leap  the  Darin-step, 

Wi'  dread  her  heart  did  shiver, 
Then  frae  her  arms  the  child  fell  down  — 

Down  in  the  raging  river  ! 
The  heavens  heard  her  shriek  of  woe, 

The  warrior  saw  his  lady 
Leap  from  the  castle's  dizzy  hight, 

In  death  she  clasp'd  her  bal)y  ! 


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HKR    HEART    WAS    ALL    MINE    OWN. 


^•^    '^i!! 


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Her   Heart  was  all    Mine   Own. 

Air  —  Gloomy  fVinter''s  now  aiva. 

^\LOOMY  days  and  weary  nights, 

Sad  and  lonely  I  am  now, 
\  Grief  is  monarch  of  my  heart, 
Sorrow  sits  upon  my  brow. 
In  the  spring-time  of  my  life, 

I  woo'd  a  maiden  fair  to  see. 
In  the  summer  of  my  life — 

Death  has  ta'en  my  love  from  me. 

O'er  the  by-gone  path  of  time. 

O'er  the  joy  and  o'er  the  care, 
O'er  the  tear  and  o'er  the  smile, 

Mem'ry  lingers  here  and  there. 
Her  eye  was  like  the  morning  bright 

When  the  mists  away  have  flown, 
Her  lips  were  like  the  budding  rose. 

And  her  heart  was  all  mine  own. 

O'er  her  dark  and  lonesome  grave 

Birds  may  sing  and  flowers  may  bloom, 
Nature  may  with  joy  rejoice. 

But  my  heart  is  in  the  tomb. 
By  her  heart  forever  still. 

By  her  eyes  in  darkness  set, 
Till  I  draw  my  latest  breath. 

My  Mary  I  will  ne'er  forget  ! 


4. 


PEM,K    ISI.K    ABOON    DKTROIT. 


147 


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WN. 


m, 


Belle  Jsle  Aboon  Detroit. 


Air — Logan  Braes. 


HE  summer  sun  with  golden  beam 
Is  dancing  on  the  lake  and  stream  ; 
O  !  come  with  me,  my  lovely  maid, 
And  let  us  seek  the  sylvan  glade. 
Beneath  the  branches,  spreading  wide, 
We'll  watch  the  rippling  waters  glide  ; 
Come !  let  us  see  the  wild  rose  smile — 
Upon  the  banks  of  sweet  Belle  Isle. 

With  mellow  note  the  blue-bird  sings. 
How  lovely  there  the  violet  springs ! 
And  there  the  honeysuckles  twine, 
'Mang  scented  groves  of  eglantine. 
I'll  pull  the  lilacs  fresh  and  fair, 
And  twine  them  in  your  golden  hair ; 
While  love  will  all  our  cares  beguile — 
Amang  the  groves  of  sweet  Belle  Isle. 

We'll  wander  through  the  woodland  green, 
And  linger  by  each  fairy  scene ; 
Though  nature's  face  be  fair  to  see — 
My  heart  will  fondly  dwell  on  thee  ! 
I'll  gaze  upon  thine  eyes  so  blue. 
Our  vows  of  love  we  will  renew — 
And  Truth  will  speak,  and  Hope  will  smile 
Amang  the  groves  of  sweet  Belle  Isle. 


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148 


MY^LOVE,    OH  !    COME   TO    MK. 


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My   Love,    0!    Come   to    Me, 

Air — Banks  o*  Doon. 

HEN  victTy  sheath'd  the  sword  of  strife, 

And  gentle  peace  once  more  did  reign, 
With  feeble  step,  and  weary  heart, 

A  soldier  sought  his  home  again. 
He  stood  beside  a  lonely  grave. 

And  o'er  his  cheek  the  tears  did  flow — 
His  throbbing  heart  was  like  to  break 

For  her  who  sleei)s  in  death  below ! 

In  life  her  heart  to  him  was  true, 

In  thought,  in  word — with  latest  breath 
She  cried,  "  my  love,  O  !  come  to  me," 

Then  sank  into  the  arms  of  death  ! 
On  battlefield,  in  danger's  hour, 

The  soldier  never  feared  the  foe, 
But  now  his  heart  is  like  to  break — 

For  her  who  sleeps  in  death  below ! 

He  kneel'd  upon  the  lonely  grave, 

He  kissed  the  cold  and  lifeless  clay. 
He  Hnger'd  long — then  left  the  spot, 

The  hand  of  anguish  led  the  way. 
Thus  onward  to  the  weary  end, 

The  bitter  tears  of  grief  will  flow, 
The  soldier's  heart  is  in  the  grave 

With  her  who  sleeps  in  death  below. 


J^ETRUU'    Its     IHK     lOWN     FOR    MK. 


149 


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Detf^oit   is   the   Town   for    M.e, 

Air — tVillie  ivas  a   fVanton   JVag^, 


jjlHK  river  sweeps  by  Sarnia  bank, 
^       Then  glides  alang  sae  merrilye, 
The  Hlies  smile  upon  Stag  Isle— 

And  violets  blush  sae  bonnilye. 
The  roses  smile  upon  Belle  Isle, 

The  birds  sing  sweet  upon  the  tree. 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 
Detroit  is  the  town  for  me  ! 

The  pine  trees  wave  on  Huron's  shore 

The  clover  blooms  on  Moretown  lea, 
At  Algonac  men  fondly  talk. 

And  court  the  lasses  gallantlye. 
On  Fromville  brae  the  lammies  play. 

In  Walpole  woods  the  robins  flee, 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 

Detroit  is  the  tov/n  for  me ! 

Detroit  river  saftly  glide, 

Ye  birds  sing  love  on  ilka  tree, 
Sing  to  my  love  in  bush  and  grove. 

Your  richest  sweetest  melody. 
Sing  to  my  love  your  blythest  songs, 

And  fill  her  gentle  heart  wi'  glee, 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 

Detroit  is  the  town  for  me ! 


if 


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JEAN  IE    HELL. 


1k- 


'•«M» 


*    * 


Jeanie   Bell, 


Air — 0'  a'  Mf  airts  the  winds  can  hlatv. 


LASSIE  cam'  unto  our  toon 

Whan  flow'rs  were  blooming  fair ; 
'Mang  a'  the  bonnie  bkishing  flow'rs, 

Nane  wi'  her  could  compare. 
The  rose-bud  in  the  dewy  morn 

Smiles  sweetly  in  the  dell, 
But  sweeter  far  the  rosy  lips 

O'  bonnie  J  eanie  Bell. 

She  has  sae  monie  winsome  ways, 

Sae  modest,  kind  and  true, 
A  perfect  heaven's  reilected  in 

Her  eyes  sae  bonnie  blue. 
The  birds  that  sing  in  green-wood  shaw 

In  sangs  their  love  may  tell, 
But  words  can  never  speak  the  love 

I  ha'e  for  Jeanie  Bell ! 

May  a'  that's  guid  aye  guide  her  steps 

Alang  life's  thorny  way. 
May  ilka  year  in  a'  her  life, 

Be  a'e  lang  summer's  day. 
Oh  !  Jeanie  dinna  leave  our  toon, 

I  ne'er  can  say  "farewell," 
But  stay  and  be  a  joy  to  mc. 

My  bonnie  Jeanie  Bell ! 


JINKRAL    ONKII-. 


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JiNERAL     P'NeIL. 
Air — yohnnie  Cope, 


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work, 

^  Whin  I  meet  yces  in  the  marnin* ! " 

Och !  Jineral  O'Neil  are  yees  spakin'  yet? 
Or  are  the  Kanucks  quikin'  yet? 
If  yees  be  spakin'  mesolf  will  wait, 

To  advance  on  Malone  in  the  marnin'. 

Whin  John  Bull  looked  the  letther  ui)on, 
Shure  he  began  to  rout  and  groan, 
"Kanucks,"  he  cried,  "Neil's  at  Malone, 
We'll  fight  him  in  the  marnin".' 

Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc 

Now  Jineral  be  as  thrue  as  steel. 

It's  yoursiU^will  make  the  Kanucks  squeel, 

It's  yoursilf  will  give  thim  a  hot  pill 

Ave  shot  an'  shell  in  the  marnin'. 

Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Whin  O'Neil  did  hear  the  Kanuck  John 
Wad  be  afther  fighting  at  Malone, 
He  got  a  dray  to  jump  upon — 

To  vamose  away  in  the  marnin'." 

Och !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 


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JINKRAL    (t'NKll,. 


Faith  now  O'Neil  it  was  not  fair 

To  draw  yer  sword  and  1  bloody  spear, 

An'  thin  to  run  just  hke  a  deer — 

Away  from  tlie  Bull  in  the  marnin'. 

Och!  jineral  O'Neill,  etc. 

Whin  Jineral  OXeil  to  the  station  came, 
He  swore  his  stomach  was  to  blame, 
"  Be  the  powers  the  wind's  got  in  my  wame, 
It  blows  right  cowld  this  marnin'." 

(Jch  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Whin  in  the  jail,  the  brave  O'Neil 

Began  to  yell  just  like  a  diel, 

"  Bedad  !  "  he  cried,  "  a  snake  or  eel 

Is  down  me  throat  this  marnin'.'' 

Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

"  Och !  if  St.  Patrick  would  arise. 
This  sarpint  banish — blast  me  eyes, 
I'd  mince  the  Kanucks  up  in  pies 

An"  eat  thim  all  in  the  marnin"." 

Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

The  Bull  thin  raised  his  tail  on  high, 
An"  gave  a  rout  that  shook  the  sky. 
Thin  Neil  began  to  pipe  his  eye, 

An'  shake  wid  the  ague  in  the  marnin'. 

Och  !  Jineral  O'neil,  etc. 

Shure  now  O'Neil  it  was  not  fliir. 
Upon  the  line  to  rip  and  tare, 
An'  thin  to  flee,  the  L— d  knows  where — 
An'  leave  yer  men  in  the  marnin'! 

Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 


THE    MEN    O     THE    MKRSE. 


153 


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nin 


The    M.EN   o'   the    Merse, 


Air — Laird  0'  Cockpen. 


In'-  -b  JV,  Stevensortj  Esq  .   1'  nse,  Scot/and. 


[HERE  the  Watch  and  the  Dye  and  the  Whitadder 
rins 
Doon  to  the  Tweed  where  auld  England  begins ; 
There  lived  the  heroes,  that  whither  or  no, 
Wad  fight  for  their  country  and  lounder  the  foe. 
In  the  front  o'  the  battle,  sae  gallant  and  true. 
The  Merse  Men  where  there  wi'  their  bonnets  o'  blue ; 
The  tyrants  we  read  o'  in  prose  and  in  verse, 
Ne'er  wanted  /7aa  sh-okes  frae  the  Men  o'  the  Merse. 

The  Men  o'  the  Border !  no  tyrant  could  scare. 
They  ne'er  run  awa  though  the  Percy  was  there, 
When  Liberty  trembled,  they  never  knew  fear, 
They  aye  did  their  best  wi'  the  sword  and  the  spear. 
The  Men  o'  the  Border !  auld  England  kens  weel, 
Are  made  o'  guid  stuff  frae  the  head  to  the  heel. 
At  the  war  cry,  "A  Douglas  ! "  the  foe  would  disperse, 
In  terror  they'd  flee  frae  the  Men  o'  the  Merse. 

How  sweet  are  the  haughs  and  the  glens  o'  the  Forth  ! 
How  grand  and  majestic  the  hills  o'  the  North  ! 
The  Clansmen  may  brag  o'  their  big  Lochnagar, 
But  our  bonnie  Tweedside  is  sweeter  by  far. 
Our  lasses  are  sweet  as  the  rose  o'  the  bower, 
Ye'll  no  find  their  match  in  the  warld  out-ower, 
And  men  wha  in  English  or  Gallic  converse. 
Maun  a'  knuckle  doon  to  the  Men  o'  the  Merse  ! 

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THE    HANKS    O*   THE    DYK 


The  Banks  o'   the  Dye, 


Air — Banki  o'  the  Devon. 


.„HE  sun  o'  the  summer  had  set  by  the  mountain, 
1^  And  the  gold  clouds  o'  gloamin'  were  fading  away ; 
And  the  sigh  of  the  winds,  'mang  the  broom  and 
the  breckan, 
Were  humming  a  dirge  o'er  the  fa'  o'  the  day. 
The  moon  had  arisen  sae  pale  and  sae  pensive, 
And  the  twinkling  stars  shone  bright  in  the  sky ; 
How  waesome  my  thoughts,  and  how  weary  I  wander'd 
Alane  by  the  banks  o'  the  clear  winding  Dye. 

The  hazels  were  bending  a-down  in  the  streamlet, 
Their  tassels  wav'd  meek  in  the  moon's  silv'ry  beam ; 
And  the  cliffs  of  the  rocks  hung  silent  and  dreary, 
As  if  wafted  to  sleep  by  the  lull  of  the  stream. 
The  Dye  ran  sae  dowie,  that  ance  ran  sae  cheerie ; 
How  dreary  she  murmurs  by  bank  and  by  brae ; 
The  flow'rs  and  the  daisies  wi'  dew-drops  are  weeping. 
There's  naething  looks  gladsome  since  Mary's  away. 

How  weary  I  wander,  how  sadly  I  linger. 

Each  wave  of  thy  stream  speaks  of  her  that  is  gone ; 

Each  sigh  of  the  winds,  as  they  ripple  thy  bosom, 

Brings  a  tear  for  the  joys  that  forever  are  flown. 

No  more  can  these  joys  again  gladden  my  bosom, 

For  now  I  am  friendless,  forsaken  and  lone ; 

My  heart  no  more  throbs  with  enraptur'd  emotion, 

Since  Mary,  my  Mary,  forever  is  gone  ! 


ntain, 
ng  away ; 
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THK    I,AXC.    TAIL(JR    (.     WHIIl'.V. 


OD 


Bonnie   Nell. 


Air — "  There  nvas  a  /ass  and  she  was  fair. 


^OW  clearly  rins  the  stream  o'  Watch, 
By  monie  a  brae  and  broomy  dell, 
It's  howes  and  knowes  nae  stream  can  match, 
By  it  I  lo'ed  my  bonnie  Nell. 

O  !  Nellie  I  did  lo'e  thee  weel. 

There's  no  a  heart  could  lo'e  thee  mair  ; 

At  mirkest  hour  to  thee  I'd  steal, 
Thou  wert  mine  a'  mine  only  care. 

But  now  I  gang  a'  wae  and  lane ; 

My  Nellie's  frae  me  ta'en  awa, 
I'll  never  see  my  love  again, 

My  heart  has  now  nae  joy  ava. 

O  Watch  !  how  clearly  rins  thy  stream. 
By  monie  a  brae  and  broomy  dell, 

By  thee  T  dreamed  life's  fondest  dream, 
I  woo'd,  to  tine,  my  bonnie  Nell. 


-» ♦  »■ 


y/      The  Lang  Tailoi^  c  Whitby. 


Air — Laird  o'  Cockpen, 


HE  lang  tailor  o'  Whitby  gaed  doon  to  Port  Hope, 
^  And  he  ca'd  at  an  inn,  and  he  rang  for  a  chop. 
He  drank  a'  the  day ;  then  the  lang  tailor  said  : 
"  Light  a  lamp,  Mr.  J^andlord,  and  show  me  to  bed. 


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JHK    COW    AVK    CHICACJO. 


Next  morning,  the  tailor  trip'd  light  down  the  stair, 
"  Ho  !  landlord,"  said  he,  "  perhaps  you're  aware 
That  money  is  tight.     I  must  go  by  the  cars, 
And  instead  of  the  dollars  take  two  pair  of  drawers ! " 

Then  the  landlord  replied,  "these  are  just  what  1  need," 

Then  the  tailor  went  off  with  respectable  speed ; 

In  a  half  hour  or  more  the  landlord  up  crept, 

And  he  looked  in  the  room  where  the  tailor  had  slept. 

He  gazed  at  the  bed  ;  then  sank  down  on  a  chair, 
And  he  swat  and  he  swore,  and  he  tore  at  his  hair, 
His  /7L'a  sheets  were  made  into  t7C'a  pair  o'  drawers, 
And  the  tailor  o'  Whitby  was  off  with  the  cars ! 


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ICAGO. 


Air — Irish  ff^asherivoman. 


hRS.  Leary  O'Leary  lived  west  in  Chicago, 

One  night  she  did  make  both  her  tongue  an'  her 

jaw  go, 
"Bedad  !"  she  says,  "  Pat,  be  aff  wid  yees  now, 
An'  be  afther  the  milk  of  our  iligent  cow  !  " 
Thin  Patsy  did  say,  "  may  the  divil  reject  us, 
An'  the  howly  St.  Patrick  forever  protect  us  ; " 
He  thin  seized  the  pail  and  the  kerosene  lamp. 
An'  aff  to  the  barn  like  a  hero  did  tramp. 

The  barn-door  whin  he  reach'd,  he  gave  a  loud  bawl, 
Then  Pat  danced  a  jig  wid  the  cow  in  the  stall ; 
He  caught  the  cow's  tail  an'  he  made  her  leap  round — 
Thin  the  kerosene  lamp  he  set  down  on  the  ground. 
It  stood  purty  an'  bright  'mong  the  straw  and  the  hay, 
Thin  Pat  took  the  piil  and  wint  milking  away  ; 
Sure  he  sang  an'  he  whistled,  an'  swore  at  his  mother, 
As  he  filled  up  the  pail  an'  emptied  the  udder. 


LITTI.H    NKI.LIi:. 


157 


air, 
:e 

Wilts ! " 
1  need," 

I  slept. 

air, 

lair, 

vers, 


e  an'  her 
es  now, 


Thin  the  leg  ave  the  cow  was  seized  wid  the  cramp, 
Sure  she  straightened  it  out  'gainst  the  kerosene  lamp ; 
Just  as  Patsy's  mamma  to  her  hammock  wint  sighing  — 
Sure  her  iligent  cow  an'  her  Patsy  were  frying. 
Whin  the  fire  an'  the  flames  wint  raging  an'  roaring, 
Bad  luck  !   Mrs.  Leary  wint  sleeping  and  snoreing  ; 
Whin  she  woke,  faith,  she  made  both  lier  tongue  and 

her  jaw  go, 
Troth  !  she  swore  that  her  cow  ne'er  set  fire  to  Chicago  ! 


h 


f" 


iTTLE    Nellie. 


Air— koys*   fVife. 


ELLIE  is  the  sweetest  lassie 
E'er  I  saw  at  ween  the  een, 
^f|[  She  can  lilt  and  sing  sae  bonnie — 
O !  she  is  a  cantie  queen  ! 
I  wadna  gi'e  my  bonnie  bairn ie 

For  a'  the  gear  that  ye  can  name, 
If  I  tint  my  toddlin'  dawtie, 
Mine  wad  be  a  dowie  hame  ! 


"i*i.| 


if" 


4 


bawl, 

round — 
Kmd. 

le  hay, 

lother, 


There  she's  runnin'  round  the  housie, 

Just  as  crouse  as  crouse  can  Ije, 
See,  she's  playin'  wi'  the  pussie, 

Now  she's  dancing  on  my  knee. 
Haud  awa,  ye  little  hempie, 

'i'outs  !  my  cantle's  unco  bare, 
Time  and  you  are  just  twa  ranilies, 

Pouin'  out  my  pickle  hair. 


*  i 


H 


i  "'i 

ri         . 


'5R 


HKR    I.OVK    rok    MK    ')IT)   WITH  I "R. 


p/* 


I* 


.^ 


I 


"■'•if  4  I 


Now  she's  tii'cn  aff  shoe  and  stockin' 

Round  about  the  tloor  to  creep, 
In  lier  chair,  wi'  glee,  she's  rockin'; 

1  ,osh  !  the  bairn  is  gaun  to  sleep. 
Come  to  me,  my  l)onnie  hinnie — 

Ye're  the  pink  o'  a'  the  toon. 
May  the  wale  o'  heaven's  blessings 

Aye  upon  my  pet  fa'  doon. 

Cut  the  strings — tak'  out  the  buttons  ; 

I  .osh  !  she's  sleepin'  like  a  tap  ; 
Hushy  bushy  bonnie  dawtie, 

Lift  her  cannie  afF  my  lap. 
In  her  cradle  saftly  lay  her, 

Hushy  bushy  baby  loo, 
Sweetly  sleep  my  wee  bit  totum — 

Angels  guard  my  wee  bit  doo ! 


• » • 


I^ER     y 


OYE     FOR 


JA 


B    DID 


V 


ITHER. 


Air — Coming  through  the  Rye. 


H  !  my  heart  is  wae  and  weary, 

Sad  as  sad  can  be, 
Anna  vowed  to  be  my  dearie, 

Anna's  slighted  me. 
Oft  we  sat  beside  the  fountain 

Where  the  lilies  spring. 
Oft  we  lingered  by  the  mountain 

Where  the  linties  sing. 

Then,  the  daisy  smiled  so  meekly — 

To  the  violet  blue, 
'I'hen,  the  lark  did  sing  sae  sweetly, 

AVhen  my  love  was  true. 


K.MK,    SNVIKIHKARl,    COMK. 


•59 


oft  \vf  wand  red  tliroiigli  ihc  incaduw 

In  the  starry  hours, 
P'ondly  I  would  watch  licr  shadow, 

Kiss  the  dewy  flowers. 

When  the  autumn  winds  were  sighuig 

O'er  the  lonely  lea, 
When  the  drooping  flow'rs  were  d\ing- 

Sorrow  came  to  me, 
Hoping  she  was  constant  ever — 

Hope  gave  way  to  grief; 
Alas  !   her  love  for  me  did  wither 

Like  the  autumn  leaf. 


*       • 


Come,    Sweetheart,    Come 


Air—/  Thtnk  of  Thee. 


INTER  is  gone  and  the  west  winds  are  blowing, 
Down  the  hill-side  the  clear  stream  is  flowing, 
On  bank  and  on  brae  primroses  are  springing, 
And  up  in  the  lift  the  lavrocks  an  singing. 
The  breeze  on  the  pool  is  rippling  and  sleeping, 
Up  on  the  pine-tree  the  ivies  are  creeping, 
Down  in  the  glen  grow  the  cowslip  and  gowan. 
And  high  on  the  bank  wave  the  ash-tree  and  rowan. 

Come  !  sweetheart,  come  !  let  v;  :..o  by  the  rushes, 
Down  where  the  birds  sing  amang  the  green  bushes  ! 
The  blackbird  will  warble  so  blithesome  and  cheerie. 
The  linnet  a  love  song  will  rsing  to  my  dearie. 
There's  a  spot  in  th'  dell  where  th'  limpid  stream  gushes, 
Where  the  rose,  like  your  cheek,  is  blooming  with  blushes, 
Where  the  silv'ry  willows  like  ringlets  are  flowing, 
And  the  sunbeams  are  dancing,  and  coming  and  going. 


'■h 


**m 


4t 


I 


m 


I:. 


m 


160 


who's  comix'? 


There,  while  the  ring-doves  are  cooing  above  thee, 
I'll  tell  thee,  my  sweetheart  !  how  dearly  I  love  thee ; 
There,  while  we  wander  'mang  gowans  and  daisies, 
The  whispering  echo  will  hear  of  your  graces. 
Then  Truth  will  rejoice — our  vows  will  not  die,  love, 
The  lark  on  the  gold-cloud  will  waft  them  on  high,  love, 
Come  !  sweetheart,  come  !  let  us  go  by  the  rushes, 
Down  where  the  birds  sing  amang  the  green  bushes. 


,v  » 


S*3 


-t     ' 


i  « 


Who's    Comin' 


Air — Donald  Caird. 


PETER  Eraser's  comin', 
Blaw  the  pipes  and  set  them  bummin'. 
Till  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
Ken  that  Peter  Eraser's  comin'; 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  hurdle-louping  Peter's  comin'. 

Wi'  little  fyke  and  little  labor 
He's  the  lad  can  toss  the  caber — 
I'oss  it  here  and  toss  it  there, 
Toss  it  to  the  deil  kens  where ; 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  caber-tossing  Peter's  comin'. 

Donald  Dinnie  at  a  race 

Is  nothing  but  a  big  disgrace, 

The  very  spirits  in  the  air — 

Cry,  "  Donald  dinna  rin  nae  mair  :  " 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
Tliat  running  Peter  Eraser's  comin'. 


KATE    O'    BOONTRKt. 


i6i 


Donald's  back  can  scarcely  bend — 
He's  like  a  sack  set  up  on  end, 
Or  like  a  broken  auld  bass  fiddle 
^Vi'  a  string  tied  round  its  middle  : 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  bounding  Peter  Fraser  s  comin'. 

It's  a  sight  to  see  him  rinnin', 
He's  the  lad  can  wax  McLennan, 
Gives  a  spring  and  off  he  flies — 
Like  an  arrow  through  the  skies : 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  springing  Peter  Fraser's  comin'. 

Not  a  man  can  run  like  Peter, 

At  a  loup  he  is  a  leaper. 

At  a  toss  he  is  a  tosser : — 

The  muse  has  fled — nae  man  can  boss  her, 

Notwithstanding  Fraser's  comin'. 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  louping  Peter  Fraser's  comin'. 


■::H 


•Ml 


-','!•■ 

4 

;'«H,.. 


,„•.»• 


.n- 


Kate  c  jSoonti^ee, 


Air — Bonnie  Dundee. 


im'. 


'^^WEET  Kate  o'  Boontree,  ye  maun  a'  understand, 

i  Has  a  dark  rolling  e'e  and  a  lily-white  hand  ; 
^^  My  certy !  she's  played  unco  havoc  wi'  me, 
if    I'm  fairly  bewitched  wi'  sweet  Kate  o'  Boontree. 

I  think  o'  her  beauty,  perfection  and  grace. 
And  I  dream  o'  her  ringlets,  her  ribbons  and  lace  ; 
Though  absent,  guidfaith  !  she's  aye  present  wi'  me. 
In  the  heart  o'  my  bosom  dwells  Kate  o'  Boontree  I 


i'\M: 


III* 


'i^W' 


-f  ^  lli 


162 


THE    COURTING    O     THE    WIDOW. 


'Twas  no  lang  ago  I  thought  love  was  a  joke. 
But  now  my  heart  loups  like  a  cat  in  a  poke ; 
Ilka  hair  on  my  head  I  would  willingly  gi'e 
For  twa  or  three  kisses  frae  Kate  o'  Boontree. 

Afore  I  saw  Kate,  I  am  free  to  declare, 
I  whistled  and  sang  like  a  lark  in  the  air, 
But  now  in  my  bonnet  I've  gotten  a  bee, 
That  hums  a'  the  day  about  Kate  o'  Boontree. 

At  times  I  will  stand  and  forget  mysel'  sair. 
Then  doon  I  will  plump  on  a  stool  or  a  chair ; 
I'm  nae  sooner  doon,  then  aff  I  will  fiee, 
To  muse  in  the  woods  about  Kate  o'  Boontree. 

Aye,  ance  in  a  day  I  was  hearty  and  stoot, 
I'm  now  like  a  lath  and  as  white  as  a  cloot, 
I  canna  live  lang,  and  that  you  will  see, 
Unless  I  get  married  to  Kate  o'  Boontree  ! 


-♦-4* 


The    Coupling  o'   the   Widow, 


IK    "^^''':Ui 


V  i  "t 


Air — Lumps  0'  Padding. 

BOUNCING  gash  widow  lived  up  in  the  moors, 
Ae  night  she  sat  down  just  to  tak  her  four'oors, 
_   _  She  took  a  bit  bite  syne  a  sirple  o'  tea — 
^     Whan  down  fell  the  saucer,  and  up  jumpit  she  ! 
*^  Guid  guide  us,"  she  cried,  "  losh,  Tam,  is  that  you  ? 
Or  is  it  yer  ghost?  hech  !  my  heart's  at  my  mou', 
What  a  gliff  ye  ha'e  gi'en  me  !  come  Tam  man,  sit  doon. 
Till  I  throw  aff  my  spencer  and  draw  on  my  goon." 


THK    COL'RriN(;    O      IHK    WIDOW. 


163 


-i! 


ie. 


ow, 


Quo'  Tarn,  "  it's  e'en  me."   Soon  she  raxed  him  a  chair  ; 

He  took  aff  his  bannet,  syne  clawed  at  his  hair, 

He  glower'd,  and  he  geck'd,  and  he  simper'd  ye  ken, 

For  he  wanted  a  wife  Hke  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen. 

(^uo'  the  widow,  "  Come  Tarn  man,    just  draw  in  yer 

sate, 
Here's  a  cup  and  a  saucer,  a  knife  and  a  plate, 
There's  a  fadge  and  a  scone,  sae  pit  out  your  hand  ; 
Poor  man  !  your  wife's  dead,  man,  as  I  understand." 

Quo*  he,  "  Aye,  she's  gane — she  is  dead  just  a'e  year  ;" 
Now  the  widow  look'd  grand  'tween  a  smile  and  a  tear ! 
Quo'   she,    "  Tam,    I    wat,   Tarn,  we've  guid  ( ause  to 

compleen. 
For  I've  lost  my  Sandy  and  yeVe  lost  yer  Jeen.' 
Wi'  this  Tarn  crap  near  -her,  and  thus  he  did  say  : 
"  I've  thought  about  you,  mem,  by  night  and  by  day. 
An'  if  ye'll  consent,  mem,  to  buckle  wi'  me — 
Slip  tva  lumps  o'  sugar  in  my  cup  o'  tea !  " 

The  widow  look'd  up  to  the  rafters  aboon. 

Syne  she  glower'd  at  the  sugar  syne  play'd  wi'  the  sjjoon, 

Then  down  o'er  her  cheek  a  big  tear  did  rin, 

As  her  e'e  fell  on  Tam,  hech  !  the  sugar  in  ! 

Now  up  frae  his  chair  T'am  jumpit  wi'  speed, 

An'  he  laid  his  big  hand  on  the  croon  o"  her  head, 

The  widow  rose  up  an'  she  cried  in  her  glee — 

"  Ye'll  aye  hae  twa  lumps,  Tam,  in  your  cup  o'  tea  I  '* 


> 


lie  moors, 
kir'oors, 


ipit  she  I 
|iat  you  ? 
lou', 
In.  sit  doon, 


I  goon. 


1.1' 


I?      1*  ,  V"  . 


■«»  -.^ 


!  i 


.    *». 


«■■  I 


iS*  '•• 


Willi 


164 


MARY 


JA 


ARY. 


Air — Therein  ne-ver  be  peaee  till  yamie  comes  home. 


(vl  J'  ^^^  gloamin',  the  sun  had  gone  down  in  the  west, 
■^  And  the  murmuring  stream  hushed  the  woodlands 
to  rest, 

The  song  of  the  mavis  had  ceased  for  the  day, 
As  the  clouds  in  their  beauty  were  fading  away. 
The  pale  silv'ry  moon  was  ascending  on  high, 
And  the  star  of  the  evening  shone  bright  in  the  sky ; 
By  the  banks  of  the  stream,  'neath  the  wide-spreading 

tree, 
My  own  dearest  Mary  came  smiling  to  me. 

With  rapture  I  clasped  my  true  love  in  my  arms. 
How  fondly  I  gazed  on  her  heavenly  charms  ! 
For  her  heart  was  as  pure  as  an  innocent  dream, 
And   as   light   as   the  moonbeam  that  danced  on  the 

stream. 
How  sweet  was  the  hour  !     O,  how  nameless  the  bliss  ! 
How  truthful  our  hearts,  and  how  holy  the  kiss, 
As  down  by  the  stream,  'neath  the  wide-spreading  tree, 
My  own  dearest  Mary  vow'd  truly  to  me. 

Now  dark  is  the  hour,  how  forsaken  I  mourn, 

My  love  has  departed — ah  !  ne'er  to  return ; 

Her  true  trusting  heart  lies  cold  in  the  grave, 

By  the  banks  of  the  stream  where  the  willow  trees  wave. 

In  sorrow  I  weep,  yet  my  weeping  is  vain. 

No  more  to  my  bosom  my  darling  I'll  strain ; 

No  more  by  the  stream  by  the  wide-spreading  tree 

Will  my  own  dearest  Mary  come  smiling  to  me. 


l,.\M.MKRMOUR. 


I  ^^5 


home. 


the  west, 
woodlands 

le  day, 

ly. 

> 

[he  sky ; 

le-spreading 


ms, 

;am, 

iced  on  the 

the  bliss ! 
iss, 
iding  tree, 


trees  wave. 


Ig  tree 
le. 


Lammermooe\. 


AiK — Mary's   iJrtjm. 


Respectfully  dedicated  to  Mrs.  AnJerjoii,  Wyoming,  On 


,ZiJ|HK  heather  blooms  upon  tl 

m-\       Prhnroses  spring  in  bielded  dells, 


ic  knowes 


The  gowans  smile  on  bank  and  brae, 
Amang  the  blue  and  bonnie  bells. 

Down  o'er  the  rocks  the  burnies  fa', 
They  toddle  on,  they  rin  sac  pure, 

Through  birken  bowers  and  yellow  l)rume 
That  fringe  the  glades  in  Lainincrm')or. 

The  lark  sings  in  the  lift  sac  1)1  no. 
The  mavis  sings  upon  the  tree, 

While  lowly  on  the  milk-white  thorn, 
The  robin  chirps  \vi'  gladsome  glee. 

I'll  never  see  Auld  Scotland  mair, 

Misfortune's  cloud  does  o'er  me  lour, 

Nae  mair  I'll  hear  the  Unties'  sang 
Amang  the  hills  o'  Lammermoor. 

Yet  there  in  death's  cold,  cold  embrace, 

Lies  ane  I'll  ne'er  forget  to  lo'e. 
Through  weal  and  woe  her  gentle  heart 

To  me  was  constant,  kiud,  and  true. 
Our  sindered  hearts  are  in  ae  grave. 

Yet  I  maun  still  my  griefs  endure, 
By  day  I  mourn,  by  night  m\-  dreams, 

Are  in  her  i^rave  in  i,ammermoor. 

H 


A 


..,;1' 


it 


r  i.'f 


•  I 


i66 


WI1,IA'    HAS    I'ROVKI)    lArsK     TO    MK. 


I 


H    "f 


m 


u* 


■■■  1 


R--  i^^      •• 


I    I 


Willy  has  Pf^oved  False  to   M.e. 

Air — Banks  o'  Door. 

WAS  in  the  time  whan  Ijlytiisome  spring 
Cam'  smiUn'  a^ter  frost  and  snaw, 
When  birds  were  warbHn'  sangs  o'  love 
On  budding  bough  and  gow'ny  sliaw. 
When  Lucy  sang  a  mournfu'  sang 

Beneath  yon  weeping  willow  tree, 
And  aye  the  burden  o'  her  sang 

Was,  "  Willy  has  proved  false  to  me.'' 

She  tore  her  hair  wi'  wild  despair, 

The  tears  rolled  doon  her  cheeks  sae  i)ale, 
'Twad  break  a  very  heart  o'  stane 

To  listen  to  her  weary  wail. 
"  O  !  Lucy,  could  the  powers  abune 

Dispel  the  cloud  that  shadows  tliee,'' 
But  aye  the  burden  o'  her  sang 

Was  "  Willy  has  proved  false  to  me." 

There  is  a  grief  nae  tongue  can  name, 

There  is  a  tear  o'  deepest  woe, 
There  is  a  sigh — the  weary  sigh — 

That  slighted  love  alane  can  know  ! 
"O  !  Lucy,  lay  your  hand  in  mine, 

Yon  cloud  wi'  silv'ry  linin'  see  !  '" 
But  aye  the  burden  o'  her  sang 

Was  "Willy  has  proved  false  to  me." 


thf:    irvsiinc  nichi". 


167 


The  Tf^ysting    Night. 

Air — Clean   Pease  Strae. 

HK  nicht  is  unco  mirk  iiml  cauld, 

'Hie  snaw  l)cgin.s  to  fa'; 
I  mickle  fear  that  Willy,  clear, 

Will  ne'er  can  come  ava. 
He  said  he'd  come — he'll  strive  to  come, 

I'm  sure  he  lo'es  me  best, 
Hope  beckons  me  aye  to  the  d(H)r  ; 

Love  winna  let  me  rest ! 

For  O  !  I  lo'e  him  as  my  life — 

I'll  lo'e  him  till  my  death  ; 
\m  sae  uplifted  whan  he  comes 

I  scarce  can  draw  my  breath ! 
( )  !  come  to  me  my  Willie,  dear, 

Ne'er  mind  the  irost  and  snaw, 
Yet  far  or  near  my  heart  tells  me 

I  lo'e  ye  best  o'  a'. 

'i'he  wind  roars  wi'  an  eerie  wail. 

The  snaw  is  swirlin'  sair ; 
A  cauldriff  dread  creeps  ower  ma  heart 

That  rU  ne'er  see  him  mair  ! 
Ye  angry  winds,  ()  !  cease  to  rave, 

Ye  trees  to  moan  and  sigh. 
Thou  moon  blink  in  the  lift  abune, 

Ye  blinding  drifts  flee  by  ! 

Sae  I  can  hear  him  whistle  clear. 

And  see  him  on  the  lea ; 
'1  hat's  Willie,  now,  1  hear  his  step 

As  sure  as  sure  can  be. 
1  ken  it's  him — that's  just  his  rap — 

•'  Come  Willy  lad,  come  in ; 
()  whisht !  I  doubt,  that  rousin'  kiss 

W'ill  wauken  a'  ma  kin  !  " 


'.,i*ifi 


-'*;l 


i 


'till; 


..*' 


".«^„ 


i68 


T  i,{)'e  mv  ai.kk  i;kst  o'  a'. 


J   Lo'E   MY    Alice   best   o'    a', 


I? 


Air — Rodin   Castle, 

^WEET  Nell  is  fair,  her  raven  hair 

Fa's  ower  a  neck  as  white  as  snaw, 
Though  Nell's  divine,  she'll  ne'er  be  mine, 

J  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 
In  summer,  down  the  burnside, 

When  evening's  shades  began  to  fa', 
How  oft  I've  pressed  her  to  my  breast. 

And  vowed  I  lo'ed  her  best  o'  a'. 

O  !  Alice  thou  art  dear  to  me. 

My  Alice,  bonny,  blyth  and  braw ; 
Though  Nellie  fain  my  heart  wad  gain 

I  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 
Her  heart  is  true  as  heaven  abune, 

My  Alice  ha      ae  guile  ava  ; 
And  ilka  day  I  vow  and  say, 

I  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 

Though  AvintTy  winds  are  raving  wild 

And  loud  the  angry  tempests  blaw, 
I'll  o'er  the  hill  wi'  right  guid  will. 

And  on  my  bonnie  Alice  ca'. 
How  soon  my  Alice  hears  my  step 

As  I  gang  round  the  garden  wa', 
And  when  we  meet,  'tis  joy  complete, 

For  O  !  I  lo'e  her  best  o'  a'. 


A. 


O'    A', 


aw. 


be  mine, 


)fa'. 


east, 


■a  in 


Id 


'  '   ■  1 09 

T"^    ftosE    OP    ^PR.NOWELUS. 

D'trm,  Mich.      -        ^-  ^'"'"'y  ^  C,., 
MOUsux-et   is   the  sprini,-  when   th  .       ,-,      • 
f  ^V^'-.>.  COM  Mas.  or  >W,neM,..e  ,.,,.,,,  ,,, 

And  ~:  tS^';-{,  ;;-:;,'-->•  ^^  "-,„ 

HoH-  grand  are  thy  bank     o  /i       '  f  °'  S'"'^^-''-       " 
Hon-  oft  'niong  thy  „rov«  r  h        °"">'  '''"*^  '"^"^  = 
My  o«.n  darling,  J 'an:,  i      he 'R^t""  •'  »'"',■'-"-<•■. 
I  I'^-re's  some  ,„a,-  achnire  t  f       •^l"-'"g»-ells. 

Marys,       ^  "   "'^'  ''"''•''^i-  smile  of  their 

A"c,   so.„e  ^sin,   the    praise    of  t„eir  .ancy.   and 

HtT  hrow  is  as  f.ir  as  ,h    )  -^Pnngwells. 

And  lier  li,,s  at.  '   ';.''"  '^I'^^'  "f  liHes, 


iisv- ;!--""'»*" 


So 


breath  is  as  SAveet 
pure  is  my  Jeannie, 


as  th 


e 


rose  on  the  fellv 
^ei)hyrs  of  h 


eaven. 


be  Rose  of  Springvvell 


But  gladness  iou  Ic!  Tver  v'vYsif^^  ""T'''  "'"  '''•^-  'ie"-^ 
'>-^"  of  ;„y  Jeannie^the  ;  .l'">:   1-"' 


If 


I'bere 


^,  etc. 


ose  of  SprinKwcII> 


Away  with  dull  care  '  let,,-  i      •  , 

May  hope  be  our  nn'-h.^  ^'\^^^"^'^^^  all  .som,u-  ' 

Though^fortmrmav^^,rf  ''''%  '^  ^^^^  ^'^-^ 
And  undying  iove:^r;:^,f;]-[;;^-i^^ 


170 


I'HK    MAllJ    Ul     W.WNK. 


By  day  and  hy  night  I  am  thinking  of  Jeanne, 
The  bright  dream  of  hope  ever  sootliingh  tells 
That  her  heart  is  my  own,  and  she'll  aye  he  ni)-  darling, 
My  Jeannie,  my  joy,  my  sweet  Rose  of  Si)ringwells. 
There's  etc:. 


•*~^~*- 


>h     '-^ 


'%■ 


■*    » 


1  'i 


Jhe   j^AiD   OF   Wayne. 

TAe  following  song  is  wed  to  a  beautiful  melody  hy  M.  H.  McCAesney, 
Esy.f  and  published  by  Whittemore  &  Stephens^  Detroit y  Michigan. 


5OWN  in  \ on  gro\e  of  maple  trees, 

Beside  yon  winding  glassy  rill. 
AVhere  fragrant  l)reezes  fan  the  air, 

From  scented  flow  er  and  doffodill : 
Beneath  the  shade  a  maiden  fair 

Sae  blythely  sang  a  loving  strain, 
The  warbling  birds  did  cease  their  songs, 

To  list  the  lo\ely  Maid  of  Wayne. 

MethoLight  1  was  in  fairy  land, 

With  rajiture  how  my  heart  did  beat, 
Methought  I  heard  the  echoes  say — 

No  lips  did  ever  sing  so  sweet. 
Adown  her  neck  the  ringlets  fell. 

And  kissed  a  bosom  free  from  stain, 
Her  dimpled  cheek  and  modest  smile 

Bespoke  the  lovel\'  Maid  of  Wayne. 

I  saw  her  leave  the  grassy  bank. 

And  lightly  trip  across  the  green. 
While  love  among  the  leaf)-  bowers 

Confessed  that  she  was  nature's  queen. 


KI-LKA     DKAk. 


171 


:11s 

my  clarliiiL;-, 
ni^welis. 


f.  H.  McChesftey, 
lity  Michigan. 


1  saw  licr  \aiiisji  from  nn  si'-lu. 

My  heart  can  ne'er  find  peace  agnin. 
Knclianted  I  could  e\er  ma/.c 


Upon  the  loveU  Maid  ot"  Wayn 


e. 


().  were  this  lovel\    maiden  mine, 

How  sweetly  would  the  moments  glide 
The  changing  year  would  bring  no  change 

She  a}e  would  >  0  my  winsome  bride. 
How  I  would  strain  her  to  mv  breast, 

But  ah  I  the  verv  thought  is  vain, 
Her  ardent  lover  lonelv  sighs. 

And  sings  the  lovelv  Maid  of  \\'a\ne. 


-•  »  • 


>ongs. 


leat. 


|m, 


leen. 


Ellen    Dear. 

Published  in   !-hf(t  form   hy    C.   J.    fVhitufs   &   Co.,  Detroit.  Mich. 

^K(J^LKN  IS  my  apple  ripe.  I'.llen  is  my  i)ear, 
iM)    Ellen  is  my  heart's  deligh)..  I  love  her  a"  the  year : 
$|cti   Ellen  is  my  bonnie  lass,  tairer  than  the  .\Tay-— 
4    Ellen's  cheek  is  like  the  rose,  I  love  her  a'  the  day. 

When  the  dews  o'  gloamin'  fa'  on  the  budding  tlow'r — 
Ellen's  lips  are  sweeter  far,  1  love  her  every  hour. 
Ellen's  eyes  are  like  the  stars,  t"u'  o'  heaven's  light, 
Ellen  is  my  ain  true  love,  I  love  her  day  and  night. 

Some  may  lo'e   the  golden   dross,   some  ma\'  lo'e   the 

wine. 
Some  may  tread  the  warrior's   path,  and  some  wi'  tinsel 

shine  ; 
Heaven  grant  me  Ellen's  lo\  e,  Isllen's  heart  and  hand. 
Then    Til  be.   though   e'er   sac   poor,    the  richest   in  the 

land. 


'7-' 


IHK    I  I.ONVKU    ()     l»L  N  I  KOON. 


Other  lads  niu)  try  to  win  glances  li'*'  Ikt  c'c  — 
Other  lads  can  never  steal  niy  I'JIens  :  a  j  frae  me. 
When  the  spring  cojiies  round  again,   dancing    in   her 

pride, 
Klien  will  he  a'  mv  ain.  she'll  he  mv  honnie  hride. 


* 


fef' 


^.Vi 


i:^      •*»« 


V.J.* 
.  ■  * 


lii!i!l 


—  •  •  • 


The    Flower   c    Duntroon. 


y^/V — ^^ Bannocks  o'   ifdr/^;'   Altai .'' 


'I'HE  hills  rise  sae  honnie  where  Liz/ie  resides, 
imm  And  the  hurnie  o'  Battue,  how  sweetly  it  glitles  ; 
^jf',  How  lightsome  m\-  heart  when  the  sun  had  ganc 

t         doon— 
As  r  met  my  ain  lassie,  the  Flower  o'  Duntroon. 

The  west  winds  were  rocking  the  pine  trees  to  rest, 
AV'hen  I  clasped  my  dear  lassie  wi'  joy  to  my  l)reast ; 
How  truthfu'  my  heart,  for  by  a'  that's  ahune, 
I  Now'd  to  love  truly  the  Flower  o"  Duntroon. 

She  blush'd  aye  sae  honnie,  her  eyes  glanced  sae  clear, 
When  she  said  she'd  be  mine  at  the  fa'  o'  the  year; 
How  the  hours  tied  awa  ;  O  !  the  mornin'  cam'  soon 
Ere  I  parted  frae  Lizzie,  the  Flower  o'  Duntroon. 

How  sweet  is  the  rose,  and  the  violet  sae  blue ! 
And  sweet  is  the  daisv  when  bathed  in  the  dew ! 
liut  the  bud  o'  the  May  and  the  blossoms  o'  June- 
Are  uo'  half  so  sweet  as  the  Flower  o'  Duntroon  ! 


[UK  rn"  N'ln  Of  Mr(;Kr(;()R, 


•7.^ 


The   pEATH   OF    McGregor, 

Air — ^^The   CamphflU  are   Coming;." 

P\AN(1  awa  to  your  blankets,  McCiivgor,  ni\  lad, 
Sli))  awa  to  your  blankets,  McClrcgor,  my  lad. 
Dinna  rage  round  the  hallan  as  if  ye  were  mad, 
Haud  awa  to  )()ur  l)lankets,  McCiregor,  my  lad. 
"Though  your  jo  has  run  aft',  though  she's  tlitit  her  tether, 
And  ower  the  kirk-stile  and  awa  wi'  your  father, 
Yet  ye  ought  to  ])e  thankfu'  that  she's  got  your  dad, 
Haud  awa  to  your  bkinkets,  Mc(iregor,  my  lad. 

"Your  vows  I've  nae  doot  were  a'  sealed  wi'  her  kisses, 

A  fig  aboot  that,  man,  there's  })lenty  mair  lasses, 

Sae  cock  up  your  beaver  and  no  look  sae  sad, 

Haud  awa  to  your  blankets,  McCiregor,  my  lad. 

"  McGregor !  ye've  heard  'bout  the  proverb  nae  doot, 

That  the  fi.sh  in  the  sea  are  no  a'  taken  out, 

Man  !  there's  baddies,  and  herrin',  and  ])lenty  o'  shad. 

Haud  awa  to  your  blankets,  Mc(iregor,  my  lad." 

We  ha'e  coax'd  the  McCiregor  awa  to  his  nest  : 
In  the  howe  o"  the  niciht  he  was  greatlv  distress'd, 
He  dreamed  he'd  a  wife  wha  ne'er  waggit  her  tongue, 
lUit  wha  aften  cam"  )erk  ower  his  head  wi'  a  rung. 
Next  moment  he  thought  he  was  somebody's  wife, 
'Mang  a  hirsel  o'  getts  wha  tormented  his  life, 
Dumfounder'd  I  he  roared  wi'  a  grunt  and  a  grane — 
"I'd  gie  my  ten  taes  to  be  single  again." 

McCiregor  then  tore  a'  his  blankets  in  tatters,    ' 
He's  rippit  the  bowster  and  smashed  the  bed  shutters. 
Unco  sair  he  has  wrestled  and  raged  "gainst  the  jad. 
Wha  had  stolen  his  lieart  and  run  aft*  wi'  his  dad. 
"  McCiregor  !   McC  iregor  !  losh  man,  will  ye  no 
Lie  still  in  your  bed  for  a  minit  or  so?  "' 
Preserve  us  !  he's  out,  and  he's  aff,  I  declare  : 
And  the  corpse  o'  McCiregor  was  never  seen  mair ! 


'r  % 


.M 


ill  *v'  :^;: . 


I.  '■^n 


Ijt 


B'     4 


iiiii 


174 


THK    AUIl)    MAN  S    COURTSHIP. 


The    Auld    IVLan's    Courtship, 


Air—'*My   Wife  hai  to" en  the  Gee.'' 


^AE  lad  can  court  the  bonnie  lass 

Wha  wons  at  Lammerlaw  ; 
Her  fate  is  sealed,  she  soon  maim  yield, 

And  wed  auld  Daddie  Ha. 
Auld  Daddie  rode  across  the  ford, 

Ae  night  at  gloamin'  fa' ; 
Her  mother  grat,  her  father  swat, 

When  they  saw  Daddie  Ha. 

When  on  his  shanks  quo'  he  "what  news?" 

The  wife  said  "  nane,  ava, 
Except  our  bairn,  ye  e'en  maun  learn. 

Can  ne'er  be  Mistress  Ha." 
"  What's  that  ye  said  ?  "  auld  Daddie  cried, 

"  I  ga'e  ye  hunders  twa. 
And  in  ten  days,  I'll  hire  a  chaise, 

And  mak'  her  >ristress  Ha."' 

"Ten  days,"  quo'  she,   "losh,  man  alive, 

Your  son  has  got  the  start ; 
Last  night  your  Tam  sat  on  the  tram, 

Our  daughter  in  the  cart.'' 
"  ^Vhere  did  they  gang?"  auld  Daddie  cried, 

Quo'  she,   "across  the  bent." 
"  If  sae,"  quo'  he,   "  the  deil  tak  me, 

The  like  o't  ne'er  was  kent." 

Auld  Daddie  sighed,  and  then  replied, 

"  I  can  nae  1  anger  tarry, 
I'll  e'en  ride  doon  unto  the  toon. 

And  notify  the  Shirra. 


n 


^^'i 


WHKN    \KI,I,    W  Am    AUdHIKKN. 

Yet  wcel  I  wat  afore  I  u;an'jr 
Hand  l)ack  the  hunders  twa." 

Then  quo'  the  man,   "  we  never  can, 
Tarn's  ta'en  the  i-ear  and  a.'  " 

Auld  Daddie  turned  u[)  his  een, 

Syne  ga'e  his  croon  a  claw  ; 
When  on  his  meer,  he  ga'e  a  sweei', 

And  then  lie  rode  awa. 
And  as  he  rode  alang  the  road, 

He  brushed  away  a  tear, 
And  faith  he  thought  tliat  he  had  bought 

His  whistle  unco  dear. 


/3 


1 
I 

■:ll 


♦  >  ♦ 


When    Nell    was    Aughteen. 


Original  Air  by  J.    Orr   Firinie,   Esf.,   Philadelj>/iij. 


t  cried, 


HEN  Nell  was  aughteen,  1  spak  out  to  her  mother, 
•  She  waved  me  away,  and  she  said,  ''  1  wad  ratlier 
^lIp-Ye'd  no  speak  to  me,  but  just  speak  to  her  father, 
**>  And  should  he  consent, 

I'm  sure  I'm  content 
That  ye  get  your  ain  will  o'  her, 
I  carena  though  ye  mak'  a  kirk  and  a  mill  o'  her.'" 

I  gaed  doon  the  dyke-side  and  confronted  her  fother. 
Quo'  he,  "ye  daft  gowk,  gi'e  me  nane  o'  your  bletlier. 
To  tell  ye  the  truth,  man,  1  carena  a  feather  ; 

Without  ony  fyke. 

Ye  may  do  as  ye  like, 
Ye  may  tak'  your  ain  will  o'  her, 
I  carena  though  ye  mak'  a  kirk  and  a  mill  o'  her." 


t''"  '■•;*'■ 


•I 


176 


I    AXCK    HAD    A    LAD. 


^.'< 

^ 
»-                                 * 

:/ 

t                                                 -', 

■ 

.♦  '^.t 

#' 

I  gaud  up  the  dyke-side  and  slep'd  into  the  kitclien, 
And  there  I  met  Nell  wi'  her  smiles  sae  bewitchin', 
"  I'm  hanginV'  quo'  I,   "like  a  horse  in  the  brichin', 
Your  father  and  mother, 
Ha'e  gi'en  their  compluther, 
Nell  !  ye  needna  misdoot  it, 
But  gi'e  me  your  hand  and  say  nae  mair  aboot  it.'' 

She  held  out  her  hand,  O  !  how  fondly  I  pressed  it, 
Then  her  head  on  my  shoulder  how  kindly  it  restit, 
And  then  her  affection  for  me  she  confessed  it : 

When  the  day  we  had  fix'd, 

In  the  week  after  next, 
How  I  kissed  her  and  clap'd  her, 
And  swore  she  was  mine  to  the  end  of  the  chapter ! 


••• 


^.-»-^' 


Nitii 


,,'!l!|| 


T    Ance    Had   a  Lad. 

Original  Air  by  J.    Orr  Ftnnie,   Esq.,   Pliiladtlpkia. 


ANCE  had  a  lad  was  the  light  o'  my  e'e, 
But  now  I  am  dowie  as  dowie  can  be, 
1  sit  a'  alane  and  I'm  no  like  the  lave, 
Since  the  laddie  I  lo'e  lies  cauld  in  his  gravj. 
My  Minnie  comes  ben  and  she  wiles  me  to  speak, 
But  the  wae-weary  tear  fa's  doon  o'er  my  cheek, 
And  the  Laird  hirples  ben  wi'  his  laugh  and  his  leer. 
To  brag  c   his  acres,  his  owsen  and  gear. 

The  sigh  o'  my  heart  and  the  tear  o'  my  e'e 
Are  dearer  than  a'  that  he's  promised  to  me — 
His  words  only  deepen  the  thoughts  o'  regret, 
For  the  heart  that  loves  truly  can  never  forget : 
He  rteetches  and  flatters  to  mak'  me  his  ain,_ 
But  I'm  woo'd  and  I'm  wed  to  him  that  is  gane  ; 
The  wooer  wha  comes  when  the  sun's  shinin'  bein 
Is  no  like  the  wooer  wha  cam'  at  the  e'en  ! 


sc'.>T(;h   provkkhs. 


177 


kitchen, 
vitchin', 
brichin", 


oot  It.'" 

•essed  it, 
it  restit, 
lit: 


THE  WISDOM  OV  OUR  FATHERS. 


fi.    ^ELECTION     OF     ^COTCli     PrOVEP^BS. 


chapter 


iilphia 


"As  naething  helps  our  happiness  mair  than  to  have  the  mind  made 
up  wi'  right  principles,  I  desire  you,  for  the  thriving  and  pleasure  o(  you 
and  yours,  to  use  your  een  and  lend  your  lugs  to  these  guid  aithf  saxvs, 
that  shine  wi'  wail'd  sense,  and  will  as  lang  as  the  world  wag:.  Gar 
your  bairns  get  them  by  heart  j  let  them  have  a  place  among  ymi  fam- 
ily booii.s,  and  may  never  a  window  ;ulc  liirougli  the  couniry  be  v.icli  jut 
them."-   Allan  Ramsay. 


e. 


gravj. 


speak, 
eek, 
his  leer, 


St, 
:et! 

ane ; 
r  bein 


A'  are  iiae  thieves  that  the  dogs  JKirk  at. 
A  dog  winna  yowl  if  ye  fell  hin.  wi"  a  bane. 
A  dry  summer  ne'er  made  a  dear  ptck. 
A  bird  in  the  hand  is  wort!:  twn  in  the  l)ush. 
A  cat  may  look  at  a  king. 
A  dirty  han"  mak's  a  cJea'i  heartli-stane. 
Ae  hour's  cauld  will  s-ick  out  s.  \cn  years'  heat. 
A  fu'  purse  ne'er  ku "%;;  frien's. 

A  gangin'  foot's  aye  gettin'  (thougli  it  be  but  a  thorn). 
A  guid  story  tells  twice. 
A  guid  name's  suner  tint  than  won. 
A  Inmgry  man's  an  angr)  man. 

-A'  complain  o'  want  o'  siller,  nane  o"  want  o"  sense.  ^ 
A:  Stuarts  are  nae  sib  to  the  king. 
A  man  mav  be  kind  an'  liae  little  l'»  gie. 

15 


i7<S 


scoivH   I'Rovi.kr.s. 


•   -"^v 


f  r 

->r 

•*?.;*.* 

K 

■  ^i% 

K^ 

*^ 

*.j   ;»_ 

■' 

'4i 

y"'. 

■    ■'(^ 

it 

f    t 

f«:  .  Vs. 

, 

.            V        •! 

>».;l^ 

t 

,  ,,ji  ■ ; 

¥' 

'•'■^'^ii, 

1  .H  f 

■-^» 

h 

"« ,' , 

1'' 

< 

'■?*.-■; 

J         ■■ 

'■  ,■■<  ■ 

m  ■ ! 


I 


m 


A  m.in  is  weel  or  wae  as  he  tliinks  liimsel'  sae.     ^ 
A  misty  mornin'  may  he  a  clear  day. 
A  mou'fii'  o'  meat  may  be  a  townfu"  o'  shame. 
An  ill  pleL  should  be  weel  pled. 
A  nods  as  guid's  a  wink  to  a  blin'  horse. 
As  broken  a  ship  has  com'  to  .land. 
As  welcome  as  snow  in  hairst. 
'A  sillerless  man  gangs  fast  through  the  market. 
A  tocherless  dame  sits  lan^'  at  hame. 
A  wee  bush  is  better  than  nae  l)ield. 
A  wilfu"  man  wad  need  to  be  unco  wise. 
Auld  spar'-ows  are  ill  to  tame. 
A  slothtlr  man's  a  beggar's  l)rither. 
A's  nae  tint  that's  in  danger. 
A  hast}"  man  ne'er  wanted  wae. 
A  giV'n  horse  should  ne'er  be  lookic  i'  the  mou'. 
Ae  scabbet  sheep  spoils  a'  the  flock. 
A  burnt  bairn  dreids  the  fire. 
As  the  auld  cock  craws  the  }Oung  ane  learns. 
An  ill  shearer  ne'er  gat  a  good  hook. 
A  guid  coo  may  hae  an  ill  calf. 
A  cock  is  crouse  on  his  ain  midden-head. 
Ane  mav  lead  a  horse  to  the  water,  but  twenty  winna 

mak'  him  drink, 
A  boniiy  bride's  sune  liusket,  an'  a  short  horse  is  soon 

Aviepet. 
A  travelled  man  has  lease  to  lee. 
An  ill  life,  an  ill  end. 
Ance  })ayed  \\q.\q\  craved. 

A  Scotch  mist  will  weet  an  Englishman  to  the  skin. 
Ae  man's  meat  is  anither's  poison. 
A'thirg  has  an'  end,  an'  a  puddin'  has  tw  a. 
A  new  tout  on  an  auld  horn. 
An  idle  brain's  the  deil's  smiddy. 
A'  are  nae  maidens  that  wear  bare  hair. 
A  wee  thing  puts  yer  beard  in  a  bleeze. 
An  ounce  o'  mither-wil  is  worth  a  ])0und  o"  clergy. 


SLOICil     I'ROVKRHS. 


179 


le.     /' 


le. 


ct. 


oil 


kventy  winna 


orse  IS  soon 


lit'  skin. 


ultTg}'. 


Auld  stots  ha'c  stiff  horns. 

A  sight  o'  you  is  giiid  for  sair  e'en. 

Bend  the  back  to  the  l)iirden. 

Better  be  hanged  than  ill  married. 

Better  a  finger  aff  as  aye  wagging. 

Be  a  frien'  to  yoursel'  an  sae  will  ithers. 

Beggars  shouldna  be  choosers. 

i»y  guess,  as  the  blin'  man  telled  the  dog. 

Better  a  toom  house  than  an  ill  tenant. 

Better  buy  than  borrow. 

Better  sma'  fish  than  nane. 

Better  learn  by  your  neibour's  skaith  tlian  your  ain  skin. 

Better  half  an'  egg  than  a  toom  dou[). 

Bring  a  coo  to  the  ha'  an'  she'll  rin  to  the  byre. 

Be  the  same  thing  that  ye  wad  be  ca'd. 

Bet*:er  be  alane  than  in  ill  company. 

Bitin'  an'  scartin'  is  Scotch  folk's  wooiu'. 

Bannocks  are  better  than  nae  kind  o'  l)read. 

Better  be  deid  than  oot  o'  fashion. 

Chuckle  stanes  are  ill  to  chow. 

Chuckie  stanes  are  nae  chickens. 

Come  unbidden,  sit  unserv'd. 

Comes  wi'  the  wind  an'  gangs  wi'  the  water. 

Count  again  is  nac  forbidden. 

Crooket  carlin',  ([uo'  the  crii>i)le  to  his  wife. 

Come  in  and  taste  the  tangs  till  the  herrin's  ready. 

decking  time's  aye  caiUy. 

Cats  are  a'  grey  in  the  (kirk. 

Dinna  cast  awa'  the  cog  when  the  coo  flings. 

Do  weel,  an'  dried  nae  shame. 

Double  drinks  are  good  for  drouth, 

Drink  little  that  ye  may  drink  lang. 

Do  the  hkeliest,  an'  (iod  will  do  the  best. 

Dirt  pairts  guid  company. 

Dummies  canna  lee. 

Every  man  wishes  the  water  to  his  ain  mill. 

Every  man  wears  his  belt  his  ain  gate. 


i8o 


SCOTCH    PROVKRnS. 


i 


'  fi 


,.> 


.-itx 


4 

r     J 


'rill 


«^! 


•KV,, 


JT 


^:„^4i 


'■■.111! 


1.    M 


■  #  111. 


Every  man's  tale's  giiid  till  anither  man's  is  tauld. 

Iwery  man  ken's  best  whar  his  ain  shoe  binds  him. 

Hither  win  the  horse  or  tine  the  saddle. 

Fat  hens  are  ill  layers. 

1^'ear  God  an'  keep  out  o'  debt. 

Fleyin'  a  bird  is  nac  the  gate  to  grip  it. 

Fules  should  never  see  half-dune  vvark. 

Fules  mak  feasts,  an'  wise  men  eat  them,  '"'*' 

"An'  wise  men  mak'  proverbs,  an'  fules  repeat  them.'' 
Fresh  fish  an'  poor  frien's  grow  sune  ill-faur'd. 
Fule's  haste  is  nae  speed. 

For  love  o'  the  nurse  mony  ane  kisses  the  bairn. 
Fair  words  ne'er  brak  a  l^ane,  foul  words  may. 
Far-sought  and  dear-bought  are  guid  for  leddies. 
Fules  shouldna  hae  chappin'  sticks,  nor  weavers  gims. 
Folk  should  bow  to  the  bush  they  get  bield  frae= 
Feed  a  cauld  and  hunsrer  a  colic. 
Fancy  kills  and  Fancy  cures.  :,#•■ 

Fleas  and  a  girnin'  wife  are  waukrife  bedfellows, 
(rang  awa  to  yer  bed,  and  if  ye're  spaired  ye'll  get  soot 

to  yer  breakfast. 
Gust  yer  gab  wi'  that  an'  be  thankfu'. 
Gar  gress  is  ill  to  grow. 

Gie  a  dog  an  ill  name,  ye  may  as  weel  hang  him. 
Gie  him  rope  eneurh,  an'  he'll  hang  himsel'. 
(lin  t/s  an'  az/^s  were  pots  an'  pans,  there  wad  be  nae 

need  for  tinklers. 
Gude  folk  are  scarce,  tak'  care  o'  me. 
(iude  gear  gangs  intil  little  buik  (bulk)-  -an"  sae  does 

DOJ^  ;n. 
Gie  yer  ain  fish-g'\ts  to  yer  ain  sea-maws. 
Gut  nae  fish  till  ye  get  them. 
God  sen's  meat,  an'  the  deil  sen's  cooks. 
Giff-gaff  maks  guid  frien's. 
God  never  strikes  wi'  baith  ban's. 
God  never  sen's  mouths  but  He  sen's  meai  for  them. 
He's  gat  a  hair  in  his  neck. 


luld. 
s  him. 


peat  them.'' 
1. 

lirn. 

y- 

iies. 

vers  gims. 
frae= 


ows. 

ye'li  get  soot 


him. 

wad  be  nae 

an'  sae  does 


SCOTCH    PROVERHS. 


i8i 


.  for  them. 


He  doesna  ken  a  B  frae  a  bull's  foot. 

He  has  nae  mair  mense  than  a  miller's  horse. 

He  hasna  a  leg  to  stand  on. 

He  jumpit  at  it  like  a  cock  at  a  grossert. 

He  has  licket  the  butter  aff  his  bread. 

Hae  !  gars  a  deaf  man  hear. 

He  wants  a  hair  to  mak  a  tether  o'. 

He  should  hae  a  lang-shaftet  spune  that  sups  kail  \vi'  the 

deil. 
He  has  feathered  his  nest,  he  may  flee  whan  he  likes. 
He  has  crap  for  a'  corn. 

Hae  ye  gear,  hae  ye  nane — tine  heart  an'  a's  gane. 
He'll  sune  be  a  beggar  that  canna  say  Na. 
He  doesna  aye  ride  when  he  saddles  his  horse. 
He  that  cheats  me  ance,  shame  fa'  /lim ;  he  that  cheats 

me  twice,  shame  fa*  ?nc. 
He  that  deals  in  dirt  has  aye  foul  fingers. 
He  has  an  e'e  in  his  neck. 

He  that  has  a  muckle  nose  thinks  ilka  ane  speaks  o't. 
He  that  teaches  himsel'  has  a  fule  for  his  maister. 
His  bark  is  waur  than  his  bite. 
He  rode  siccar  that  never  fell. 
Hunger  is  guid  kitchen. 

He  that  mayna  as  he  wad,  maun  do  as  he  may. 
Hair  an'  hair  maks  the  carl  bare. 
He  that  tholes  overcomes. 

He  that  winna  when  he  may,  sanna  when  he  Nsad. 
He  ate  the  coo  an'  worried  on  the  tail. 
Hame  is  hame,  though  ever  so  hamely. 
Hae  God,  hae  a'. 

He  sits  fu'  still  that  has  riven  breeks. 
He  is  at  his  wit's  end. 
He's  nae  sae  daft  as  he  lets  on. 
He  counts  his  bawbee  guid  siller. 
He  has  muckle  prayer,  but  litde  devotion. 
He  has  ae  face  to  God  an'  anithcr  to  tlie  deil. 
ilka  blade  o'  grass  keps  its  oin  dra]'>  o' 


j\v, 


■  ^Si>'.^l^^i 


l82 


SCOTCH    PROVKRJ5S. 


'^      if 


Ki 


•^ 

;i 

.     1  ■ 

■^':  i 

i:      b 

-W^:  ,   '?   • 

WL^ 

•    ^-. 

'X. 

)_    ' 

t's  an  ill  wind  lliat  blavvs  naebody  guid. 

hae  gi'en  him  a  stick  to  brak  my  ain  head. 

t's  an'  ill  cause  that  a  lawyer  thinks  shame  o'. 

'11  gar  ye  laugh  at  the  wrang  side  o'  yer  mou. 

'11  ne'er  consent  though  yer  hair  was  like  John  Harley's 

an'  that  was  gowden  yellow, 
winna  mak  fish  o'  ane  and  flesh  o'  another. 

t  wad  be  a  hard  task  to  follow  a  black  soo  this  night 
through  a  burnt  muir. 

'm  o'er  auld  a  cat  to  draw  a  strae  afore. 

t's  hard  to  sit  at  Rome  an'  fecht  wi'  the  Pope. 

wadna  ca'  the  king  my  cousin. 

ts  an  ill  bird  that  fyles  its  ain  nest. 

f  it  dinna  sell  it  winna  sour. 

f  ye  w^antit  me  an"  yer  meat,  ye'd  w^ant  a  guid  frien'. 

f  ye  brew  weel  ye'll  drink  the  better  ale. 

11-doers  are  aye  ill-dreiders. 

11  gat  gear  ne'er  prospered. 

ouk,  an'  let  the  jaw  gang  b}'. 
Keep  yer  tongue  at  ween  yer  teeth. 
[Ceep  yer  breath  to  cool  yer  broth, 
indness  canna  be  bought  for  gear, 
iving's  caff  is  worth  ither  men's  corn. 

^ang  looked  for  comes  at  last. 

^auchin'  to  haud  in  the  greet. 

.aw-makers  shouldna  be  law-breakers. 

.aw's  costly,  tak'  a  pint  an'  gree. 

^azy  at  meat,  lazy  at  wark. 

ike  a  soo  playin'  on  a  trumj). 
Little  odds  atween  a  feast  an'  a  fu'  wame. 
Learn  young,  learn  fair.  s 

Like  draws  to  like,  a  scabbet  liorse  to  an  auld  dyke. 
Little  gear,  little  care. 
Live  in  hope  and  dee  in  despair. 
Like  the  guidman  o'  Killpallet — unco  simple. 
Like  Cranshaw  kirk — as  monie  dogs  as  folk  and  neither 
room  for  reel  or  rock. 


0'. 

I. 

ihn  Harlev's 


J  this  niglit 


)C. 


id  frien'. 


lid  dyke. 


c. 


k  and  ncidier 


SCOTCH    rRoVKRI'.S. 


i«3 


Let  the  tow  gang  wi'  the  bucket. 

Like  the  tailor  o'  Lockermacus  — ye'U  drink  a'  the  profits. 

Looks  as  if  butter  wadna'  melt  in  his  mou'. 

"  Mair  din  than  woo,''  quo'  the  souter  whan  he  sheared 
the  soo. 

Maidens'  bairns  are  aye  weel  l)red. 

Mair  by  luck  than  guid  management. 
rMair  haste  the  waur  si)eed,  quo"  the  tailor  to  the  lang 
thread. 

Mak'  a  kirk  or  a  mill  o't. 

Mak'  die  best  o'  an  ill  bargain. 

Money  mak's  the  mear  to  go. 
,  Mony  irons  i'  the  fire — pairt  maun  cool. 

Mony  hands  mak'  licht  wark. 

Mony  litdes  mak'  a  muckle.  > 

Muckle  water  rins  by  that  the  miller  wats  na  o'. 

Muckle  maun  a  guid  heart  thole. 

Muckle  head,  little  wit. 

Na^  fule  like  an  auld  fule. 

Naething  should  be  dune  in  a  hurry  but  catchin"  tleas. 

Naething  to  do  but  cry  Fill  an  fetch  ben. 

Nane  sae  weel  but  he  hopes  to  be  better. 

Nae  plea  is  the  best  plea. 

Ne'er  marry  a  widow  unless  her  first  man  was  hanged. 

Ne'er  let  on,  but  laugh  i'  yer  ain  sleeve. 
'  Ne'er  put  a  sword  in  a  wud  man's  hand. 
•  Ne'er  sca'd  yer  Hps  wi'  ither  folk's  kail. 

Near  the  kirk  may  be  far  frae  (lod. 

Nae  man  has  a  tack  o'  his  life. 

Nearest  the  heart  comes  out  first. 
■^  Nae  wonder  to  see  wasters  want. 

O  man  !  an  the  deil  war  deid  ye  wad  be  chiefiiiourner. 
-  Ower  again's  no  forbidden. 

Ower  mucklt  hameliness  spoils  guid  couries). 

Ower  muckle  o"  ae  thing  's  guid  for  naething. 

Out  o'  debt,  out  o"  danger. 

Pay  him  hame  in  his  ain  coin. 


IS4 


SCOTCH    I'ROVKkBS. 


.« 

•^r 


^»  ■  ,! 


•M*  ! 


I'liir  folks  arc  ghul  o'  broo. 
I'liir  folks  arc  glad  o'  a  ])cllyfu'  o'  onyl'Mii^. 
Pom  in'  walcr  on  a  drooncd  mouse. 
I'cnnylcss  sauls  pine  in  Purgatory. 
Raithcr  spoil  yer  joke  than  tync  ycr  friend. 
Riclu  wrangs  nac  man. 
!\(jyet  lads  may  mak'  sol)cr  men. 
Rue  in  time. 

Raise  nac  mair  dcils  than  ye're  ahK  to  lay. 
Ride  tlic  foord  as  ye  find  it. 
Seein's  believin',  but  feelin's  die  naked  iriitli. 
Ser'  yersel',  till  yer  bairns  come  o'  age. 
Set  ;i  stout  heart  to  a  stey  brae. 
Sharp  stamachs  mak'  short  graces. 
Shallow  waters  mak'  maist  din. 
Sma'  fish  are  better  than  nane. 
Speak  guid  o'  pipers,  for  yer  father  was  a  fiddler. 
Sudden  friendship,  sure  repentance. 
Seldom  lies  the  deil  dead  at  tiie  dyke-side. 
Sune  eneitch  if  weel  eneuch, 
Su  )  avva— yer  teedi  are  langer  than  yer  beard. 
Sair  legs  and  ill  wives  should  stay  at  hame. 
Surfeits  slay  mair  than  swords. 
Sue  a  beggar  and  gain  a  louse. 
There's  a  teugh  sinent  in  an  auld  wifes  heel. 
Tak'  the  bit  an'  the  buffet  wi't. 
Tak'  tent  in  time. 

The  young  may  dee,  the  auld  f/Mu/i  dee. 
The  king  may  come  in  the  cadgers  gate. 
The  langest  day  will  hae  an  end. 
There's  mony  a  true  tale  tauld  in  jest. 
There's  aye  some  water  whar  the  stirkie  droons. 
There  was  ne'er  eneuch  whar  naething  was  left. 
They  are  nae  a'  saunts  that  get  holy  water. 
Thole  w^ed  is  guid  for  burnin'. 
"  Tyne  heart  an'  a's  gane. 
TraviiD  on  a  snail,  an'  she'll  shoot  out  her  lH);ns. 


cud. 


•  lay. 
until. 


s  a  tuKllcr. 

sitlo. 

;r  beard, 
lainc. 

"s  liccl. 


oe. 

itc. 


vie  droons. 
g  was  left, 
vater. 


t  her  horns. 


StOK   H     I'KOV  I  KI'.S. 


•■^5 


'I'hf  soutcrs  wifes  warst  siiod. 

The  tailors  wife's  warst  clad. 

The  lander  here,  the  lal«  r  ihere. 

The  deil's  a  busy  bishop  in  his  ain  diocese. 

'I'he  mair  cost,  the  mair  honour. 

The  hi^^her  up,  the  greater  fa'. 

Tak'  a  man  by  his  word,  an'  a  coo  l)y  her  horn. 

The  grace  of  (lod  is  gear  eneuch. 

The  water  will  ne'er  warr  the  widdie  (cheat  the  gallows). 
There's  a  slii)|)ery  stan<-       ilka  bodie's  door. 

The  maut's  aboon  the  nieai. 
/rhey'U  Hit  in  the  Mers.     )r  u  hen's  gerse. 

What  is  ma  case  the  da         'v  be  yours  the  morn. 

When  prides  afore,  begging's  ahint. 
-^  When  ycr  gangin'  and  comin'  the  road's  no  enii)ty. 

Where  there's  heat  there's  reek. 
'  Wealth  mak's  wit  waver. 

We'll  ne'er  ken  the  want  o'  the  water  till  the  well  gangs 
dry. 
-We'll  bark  oursel's  ere  we  buy  dogs  sae  dear. 

Wha  daur  l)ell  the  cat  ? 

Whan  ae  door  steeks  anither  opens. 
■  Wink  at  wee  fauts,  yer  ain  are  muckle. 

Whan  drink's  in  wit's  out. 

Whan  the  tod  j)rcaches  beware  o'  tlie  hens. 

Wham  Clod  will  help  nane  can  hinder. 

Words  are  but  wind,  but  dunts  are  the  deil. 

Ye're  maister  o'  yer  ain   words;    but,   ance  spoken,  )er 
words  may  maister  you. 

Ye  canna  make  a  silk  purse  o'  a  soc/s  lug. 

Ye  cut  muckle  whangs  out  o'  ither  folk's  cheese. 

Ye  canna  see  wood  for  trees. 

Ye  fand  it  whar  the  llielandman  fand  the  tangs     at   the 
fireside. 

Ye  hae  tint  the  tongue  o'  your  trumj). 

Ye  hae  the  wrang  soo  by  the. lug. 
*-Ye'll  nae  sell  yer  hen  on  a  rainy  day. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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I.I 


Photographic 

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1 86 


SCOTCH    PROVERBS. 


Ye  may  dicht  yer  neb  an'  flee  up. 
Ye  ne'er  saw  green  cheese  but  yer  e'en  reel'd. 
Ye're  as  daft  as  ye're  days  auld. 
Ye're  weel  awa',  gin  ye  bide ;  an'  we're  weel  (iuat. 
Ye're  sair  fash'd  wi'  haudin'  naething  thegither. 
Ye  wad  do  little  for  God  if  the  deil  was  deid. 
Ye  may  blaw  at  a  cauld  coal. 
Ye're  baith  simmer'd  and  winter'd. 
Ye're  just  a  blaw-ma-lug. 
Yer  looks  are  no  yer  warst  fau't. 
Ye've  gat  yer  nose  on  the  grindstone. 
Ye'll  neither  dance  or  haud  the  can'le. 
Ye'll  neither  hup  nor  wind. 
Yer  absence  is  guid  company. 
-  Yer  like  Rab  Dale's  coo — as  guid  as  yer  bonnie. 
Ye  ha'e  a  conscience  like  Coldingham  Common. 
Ye're  as  cross  as  twa  sticks. 
Ye're  as  bold  as  a  Lammermoor  Lion — /.  e.   a 
faced  sheep. 


black- 


ipNi  II: 


(II.OSSAKV 


187 


uat. 


GLOSSARY. 


inie. 
lion. 


e.   a  l)lack 


A',  all 

Ae,  one 

Aboon,  above 

Afore,  Dolore 

Alt,  often 

Aften,  often 

Ahint,  behind 

Alblins,  perhaps 

Aik,  oak 

Ain,  own  I  hiring 

Airl-penuy,  a  coin  given  as  earnest  in 

Airt,  direction 

Ajee,  ajar 

Alowe,  in  a  flame 

Amang,  among 

An,  if 

Ance,  once 

Anithcr,  another 

Ase,  aslies 

Atween,  between 

Aucht,  eiglit 

Auld,  old 

Auld  faurent,  old  fasliioned 

Ava,  at  all 

Awa',  away 

A wmry,  pantry 

Awms,  alms 

Ayont,  beyond 

Bairn,  a  child 

Bairns,  children 

Baitli,  both 

Bambooziled,  stupitted 

Bauchels,  old  shoes 

Bauld,  bold 

Bauzand,  a  horse  or  cow  having  a 

white  spot  on  its  forehead 
Beck,  to  bow,  to  nod 
Bein,  comfortable 
Beld,  bald 
Bely  ve,  bv  and  by 
Ben— see  but  and  ben 
Besom,  liearth-brush 
Bicker,  drinking  vessel 
Bield,  shelter,  refuge,  protection 
Blgging,  building 
Bike,  wild  bees' hive 
Bing'd,  curtseyed 
Birr,  spirit 
Birried.  tossed 

Birrin',  to  throw,  to  run  rapidly 
Birkie,  a  youni;  fellow 
Birse,  bristles 
Blate,  bashful 
Blaw,  blow 
Bleare'ed,  dim  eyed 


Blcfu't,  bedimmcil 

Bleezing,  blazing 

Bleth'rin,  talking  idly 

Blink,  a  little  while,  a  smiling  lODk. 

to  look  kindly,  one  sight 
Blinking,  smirking 
Blvtlie,  clic'.irful 

Bluid,  blood  I  tiful 

Bonnie,  or  Bonny,  handsome,  beau- 
Bodiu',  fortelling 
Bodle,  iir  Boddle,  sixth  part    of  an 

Engliiih  penny 
Bogles,  gonlins 
Boortree,  the  elder  tree 
Bothy,  a  higliland  cottage 
Brae,  side  of  a  hill 
Brat,  a  child 
Brattle,  to  run 
Braw,  fine,  liandsome 
Brawlie,  perfectly,  quite  well 
Bread-pan,  the  mouth 
Brcekti.  l)rot'che.s 
Buchts,  sheep  pens 
Buckle,  marry 

Bumbazed,  amazed,  confused 
Busk,  dress 

Bu^kotbruw,  well  dressed 
But  iinfl  ben,  outer  and  inniT  ai)art- 

ment 
Bully,  chubby 
Burke,  to  elioke 
Burnio.  streamlet 
But,  without 
Brisket,  the  breast 

Ca'.  to  call,  to  name,  to  drive 

Caickle,  cackle 

Callan,  a  boy 

Caller,  Iresh,  sound 

Cam,  come 

Camstery,  perverse,  self-willed 

Cannie.  gentle,  mild,  dextrous 

Cantie,  or  Canty,  merry,  eheen'ul 

Cantle,  crown  of  the  head 

Cantrip,  incantation,  spell 

Carle,  an  old  man 

Carlie,  a  little  boy 

Carline,  a  .'^tcmt  old  woman 

Carritcli,  catechism 

Carry,  tlie  sky 

Castoek,  the  stalk  of  the  cabba;;e 

Cauld.  cold 

Cauldrilf,  cold 

Certie,  truth 

Cluuiter,  pari  of  a  bagpipi- 

Cliield,  a  young  man 


lit?'  .♦     :  ■". 


i 


|4^ 


i88 


(ILOSSARV. 


mfy-  ;    ■  ,".  JW ! 


1    ^ :  :i:*4 


<Jlmcky-stanc8,  pi'bblc  stones 

Clachiiii,  village 

Claiso,  or  Clacs,  clollu  8 

Claitli,  cloth 

Clank,  a  blow 

Claver,  to  gossip 

Cleed,  clotlii) 

Cleckfii,  liaii^B 

Clegs,  lioi'se  Hies 

elite,  to  fall 

Clotteriii',  to  walk  awkwardly 

Clout,  to  mend— Clout,  a  blow 

Clour,  a  mark  from  a  blow 

Cluds,  clouds  [males 

Cookernotiie.  dress  cap  worn  liy  I'e- 

Cocldlo,  to  I'ondle 

Coft,  bought 

Cog,  a  wooden  dish 

Coggie,  a  small  sized  wooden  dish 

Coost,  lUd  cast 

CompUither,  comply,  conBent 

Corbie,  a  raven 

Coup,  to  turn  over 

Couthie,  kind,  lovluR 

Cowriu',  cowering 

Cowt,  colt 

Cozic,  snug 

Crack,  to  converse 

Crackin',  conversing 

Cragie,  a  crag 

Craik,  to  complain,  a  noise 

Crap, crept 

Crappen,  stomach 

Craws,  crows 

Creel,  a  tlshwil'e's  basket 

(^reeple,  a  low  stool 

Croiiv,  comrade 

Crooclle,  to  coo  as  a  dovs' 

Grouse,  proud 

Crumuiie,  cow 

Cull",  a  blockhead 

Cuist,  cast 

Cults,  ankle  b  jues 


Dab,  to  peek  as  a  bird 

Daddie,  a  father 

Darting,  funuinj',  uiaking  spur 

Daft,  merry,  giddy,  foolisli 

Daidle,  loiter 

Daised.  contused 

Darg,  day's  work 

Daud,  lump 

Daunder.  walk  slowly 

Daur,  dare 

Daurna,  dare  not 

Dawtie,  a  pet,  a  darliug 

Deave,  deaf,  to  umke  a  noise 

Dee,  die 

Deelng,  dyiu" 

Dcftlv.ciuick  , 

Delve,  dig 

Dern,coni;c!&l 

Dibbled,  planted 

Ding,  knock,  to  push 

Dink,  sma.t,  tidy 

Dinna,  do  not 

Divot,  a  thin  sod 

Dochter,  daughter 

Doited,  stupid 


Doniiort,  stupid 

Dool,  sorrow,  grief 

Doon,  down 

Douce,  jreiule,  sober,  wise,  prudent 

Doutf,  pitliless 

Doiicely,  quietly 

Dour,  stubliorn 

Dover,  a  short  sleep 

Dow,  or  Doo,  a  dove 

Dowie,  worn  with  grief,  sleepy 

Downa,  expressive  of  inability 

Diab,  a  sloven 

Draggiii',  to  walk  slowly 

Drammaeli,    mixture    of   meal  and 

Avater 
Drap,  (lro|) 
Dree,  surt'er 

i)reei)ln',  dropping  or  wet 
Droddum.  t!ie  breech 
DroukJt,  drenched 
Drontti,  thirst 
Drumlie,  muddy 
Duds,  clothes 

Dunch,  tojo'i;  with  tlio  elbow^ 
Dunteil,  beat 

E'e,  the  eye 

Een,  tlie  eyes 

E'cnin',  evening 

Eerie,  frightened,  troubled 

Eild,  old  age 

Eldrich,  fearful 

En',  end 

Enew.enougii 

Ettli%  to  aim 

Fa',  fall,  lot,  to  fall 

Faes,  foes 

Fain,  liapjiy.  fond 

Fain,  anxiuus 

Farin',  fo'td 

Fiusliions,  lroublcs(»nie 

Fiisht,  troubled 

Fauld,  a  fold,  to  fold 

Fnuts,  faults 

Fearlti',  fri2;htful 

Fceht,  to  li^lit 

Feck,  most  iiait 

Fee.  b If' 

l'\'n,  to  make  shift 

F('iiie>.  wonders 

Fielding,  uneasy 

Fieht.ilciid 

rilfa',  footfall 

Fislh'.  Imstle 

Flaller,  llntter 

Flee,  lly 

Fleoel!.  Ill  supplicate,  to  coftx 

For))ye.  besioes 

Forgie.to  forgive 

Forjesket,  tired,  wearied 

Fou,  full,  tipsy 

Foumart,  a  fox 

Fouth.  lots 

Fiae.from 

Fullln".  pulling 

FuMull 

Funk,  to  kick 

Fyke,  rivstlessness 


GLOSSA'^V. 


iS,> 


wise,  prudettt 


•let",  sloepy 
f  inability 

)wly  ,        , 

■0    of   meal  aivl 


jr  wot. 
■h 


Uio  elbow 


;ioublo(l 


oine 
1)1(1 


;ite,  to  COAX 

wearied 


Gab,  llic  tnoiith,  to  tipoitk  boldly  or 

pertly 
Gabbing,  Hpeakln;;  and  chatttnt; 
Gae,  to  go 
Gaed,  went 
Gaon,  or  Gane,  gone 
Gael,  or  Gate,  way,  nianni>r.  road 
Gaffaw,  loud  biutjliter 
Gans,  to  no,  to  walk 
Gar,  to  make,  to  force 
Gart,  made 
Gaacy,.ii»lly,  large 
Gann,  ijolng 
Gauntreus,  framu»  ou    wliicli    oaskii 

are  placed 
Gawky,  foollali,  romping 
Gear,  richey,  goods  of  any  kind 
(Jee,  pet 
Gerse,  grass 
GhalHt,  a  ghost 
Gle,  to  give 
Glrnlng,  grlnnin-i 
Qled,  gave 
Glen,  given 
Gllpey,    iialf-gfown,    halt    Informed 

bov  or  girl 
Gin,  if,  against 
Glalkot,  foolish,  mad 
Glamour,  the  intluenceof  a  charm 
Glanr,  mud 
Gled,  a  hawk 
Gleg,  quick,  clear-sighted 
Glint,  glance 
Gliuk,  glimpse 
Gloamin',  twilight 
Glow'r,  to  stare,  to  look 
Glunch,  frown,  giooju 
Gomeril,  a  fool 
Goupins,  handfulH 
Goustle,  gliostly 
Gowau,  mountain  or  Held  daisy 
Gowd.  gold 
Gowk,  fool 

Grannie,  grandmother 
Grane, groan 
Grat,  wept 
Gree,  pre-eminouce 
Greetln',  crying,  weepin'4 
Grlen,  to  wish,  covet 
Grit,  great 
Gript,  grasped 
Grop,  to  feel 
Growl,  anarl,  discontent 
Gruc,  shudder 
Grup,grip 
Gude,  good 

Guid  e'en,  good  evening 
Guid-mornin',  good  morning 
Guidman  and  Guidwife,  the  master 
and  mistress  of  the  house 

Guidfather    and     Quidmother,    the 
father-in-law  and  mother-in-law 

Gntcher,  grandsire 

Ha',  hall 
Uae,  to  have 
Haen,  had 
Hale,  whole 

Hulrst,  harvest 


Halesoiue,  wholtMomo 

llallan,  cottage 

Hallunshakur,  a  (tcamp    sfho  i*: 

shaking  In  the  hallan,  a  4t«)  tt 

gar  man 
Hamu,  home 
llaftits,  sides  of  the  liead 
Hatllns,  the  half 
Hantle,  great  deal 
Hap,  to  shield,  to  cover  up 
Haruni  scaram,  half-mad 
Haugh,  a  low  tlat  piece  of  liiud 
Hauu,  hold 
Hoar't,  hear  It 
Haver,  to  talk  foolishly 
Hech !  oh,  strange 
Helch,  high 
Herrln',  herring 
Hlnney,  honey 
Hlrple,to  walK  lame 
Hlzzle,  romping  girl 
notch,. jolt,  shalce 
Hoodle-craw,  a  raven 
Hool,  husk 
Howdle,  a  mldwllV 
Howket.  dug 
Howlet,  owl 
Hurklln,  cowering 

Ilk,  each 
Ilka,  every 
Ingle,  tiro-nlace 
Ingleslde,  fireside 
I'se,  I  shall  or  will 
Ither.  other,  out;  anothfr 


,Iag,  prick 
.Taunt,  a  journey 
.laupit,  bespattered 
,Iaw,  raillery,  wave 
Jee.  change 
.link,  to  dodge,    to 

round  a  corner 
.Jo,  sweetheart 
.Touk,  stoop  down 
.Joyfu',  joyful 


illd.i 


turn  suddeulf 


Kail-yard,  cabbage  garden 

Kame,  comb 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese 

Keeic,  look,  a  peep,  to  peep 

Keeking-glass,  looking-glass 

Kelpies,  evil  spirits  haunting  stream! 

Kempin',  striving 

Ken,  to  know 

Keud,  or  Kent,  knew 

Kenna,  know  not 

Kens,  knows 

Keps,  catches 

Kill,  a  portion  of  the  highland  garh 

Klmmer,  a  gossip 

Itln,  kindred,  relations 

Kirn,  a  churn,  the  liarvii.sl  suppsr 

Klrsen,  christen  or  baptize 

Kist,  chest 

Kittle,  to  tickle,  tickliab 

Knowe,  a  small  round  hlll')Cit 

Kye,  cows 


\  ()0 


(;i.OSSARV. 


M   ■> 


ti^ 


'^M, 


t'  ><i 


'^\ 


I  others 
rottiftlnrtor,  tJie 


Kyloos,  hi  ick  IIlKhhiud  oiittlri 
Kyto,  tho  belly 

Laddio,  iihoy,  rtliniiintivoof  lad 

LalRli,  \ovf 

haMh,  unwilliiip; 

Lane,  lone— My  lane,  myself,  alone 

Lanely,  lonely 

Tianjr,  Ions,  to  think  long,  to  long,  to 

weary 
I^ampins,  to  take  lonR  steps 
I^ap.  leap 
Lancli,  laugh 
Lave,  the  rest,  tlu' 
Laverock, the  lark 
LaAV,  low 
Leal,  true 
Lee,  an  untruth 
Lee  lang,  live  long 
Leezeme,  a  phrase  of  congratulation, 

I  am  happy  In  thee,  or  prond  or 

thee 
Leg-bail,  run  ofl" 
Lensrh,  laugli 
Lenk,  a  look,  to  look 
Licht,  light 
Lift,  sky 
Lightlic,  despise 
Lilt,  a  ballad,  a  tune,  to  sing 
Lilting,  singing 

Limmer,  an  abandoned  female 
Linn,  a  waterfall,  or  the  pool  at  the 

bottom  of  it 
Llntle,  linnet 
Loaning,  a  broad  lane 
Lo'e,  love 
Lo'ed,  loved 

Loof,  the  palm  of  your  hand 
Loon,  a  wild  young  lad 
Loot,  did  let 
Losln,  a  pane  of  glass 
Lounder,  to  strike 
Loup,  leap 
Lugs,  ears 
Lyart,  old,  thin 
Lowe,  flame 

Mae,  more 

Male',  make 

Mailin,  farm 

Mair,  more 

Maist,  most 

Maistly,  mostly 

Maukin,  a  hare 

Mann,  must 

Maunna,  must  not 

Mark,  a  Scottish  coin 

Marrow,  equal,  like 

Mauled,  to  strike  repeatedly 

Mavis,  the  thrush 

Mense,  manners 

Mersc,  a  portion  of  Bcrwicks!\ire 

Mess  John,  the  minister 

Mlcht,  might 

Minnie,  mother 

Mirk,  dark 

MIschantcr,  misfortune 

Mither,  mother 

Monuie,  or  mony,  many 


Mou',  mouth 

Mondiwart,  a  mole 

Mnckle,  or  Mlckle,  great,  big  much 

Mutch,  cap  worn  by  female* 

Mulchkln,  English  pint 

Mysel',  myself 

Na,  no,  not 

Nae,  no,  not  ;\nv 

Naelhing,  or  Nalthing,  nothing 

Naig,  a  nag  or  horse 

Naigles,  horses 

Nane,  none 

Nelvefn',  handHil 

Nelst,  next 

Nlcht,  night 

Nicker,  to  nelgli 

Nift-nafl",  fastidiouK 

Nlppin,  |)it'reinc,  pincliin'/ 

Nlpplt,  pinched 

Nocket,  luneli 

Nook,  corner 

Noncht,  nought 

Nout-horn,  coM'-honi 

Nowte,  cattle 

O',  of 

O'erconie,  Imrdcii,  as  of  a  song 

Onic,  anv 

O't,  ofit 

Oursels,  ourselves 

Owrc,  often,  too 

Owsen,  oxen 

Oxtering,  to  link  arms 

Palks,  knocks 
Palrtln',  parting 
Palaver,  liypocritical  talk 
Pawky,  sly  or  cunning 
Pecliin',  breathing  hard 
Perllns,  jewels 
Philabeg,  the  kilt 
Pibroch,  pipe,  tune 
Pickle,  a  small  quantity 
Pingle,  to  mop 
IMrn,  a  spool 

Plack,  an  old  Scottish  coin 
Pliskle,  to  trick 
Pouch,  pocket 
Pouther'd,  powdered 
Pow,  head 
Pree,  to  taste 
Pree*d,  tasted 
Pu'd,  pulled 
Pulrtlth,  poverty 
Pulr,  poor 

Quo,  said 

Rackle-handed,  strong-handed 

Kald,  Inroad,  foray 

Kampageous,  raging,  prancing 

liang,  reigned 

Rax,  fetch,  reach 

Rede,  warn 

Reek,  smoke 

Riftc' ,  torn 

Kin,  run 

Uistle,  to  striko 


C.LOSSAKV 


191 


Rreat,  blR  much 
ptnt 


so 


pincliiii'/ 


oni 


1 ,  as  of  n  sons 


arms 


tical  talk 
nnlng 
hard 


no 
(lantlty 

UlHh  coin 

red 


tronp-handed 

ay 

;lnK,  prancing 


Roul.tli''  hlowiiia;  ofn  tiorn 

Uonth.  plonty 

Rowans,  homos  ,>t'  tlio  inoiintain  ash 

Uowpit,  lioarrtu 

IJuhbit,  iMihhod 

IJunK,  a  walking  stick 

Hue,  HO 

Salt,  Hoil 

aalr,  Horu 

Salily.Horoiy 

Sang, Hong 

Sack,  Hhirl 

Sa88cnacli,Siisi>ii  or  linuiamlor 

Scaur,  asttMipliank 

Scraugliin',  H(tr(;aniln!; 

Scroca,  to  Ifctiiro 

Hcrivoin',  U)  goswUlly 

Scunner,  disgust 

Sol',  soil" 

Sliank,  to  (lopiut  or  sot  of),  a  thin 

Hcrankv  lou,  a  liauUio 
Slianolilod,  ill  or  looHoly  sliapcd 
Sliaw,awoo(l  inal\oll()\v  place 
Klicaring,  reaping 
Sliciling,  cot,  a  cottai;<' 
Sliili,  Hlirill 
Slilndlo,  disturbance 
Sliorking,  wot  tool 
Sic,  sucfi 
Slccan.sucli 
Sicker,  keen 
Siller,  Bllver  money 
Simmer,  summer 
Sin',  8lnce 

Skaith, to  damage  to  inj\ire,  injury 
Skeigli,  proud,  nice,  higli  mettled 
Skolly,  to  squint 
Skolp,  to  strike,  to  walk  with  a  smart 

tripping  step 
Skirling,  shrieking,  crying 
Skreigli,  a  scream,  to  scream 
Slaw,  slow,  dull 
Sice,  sly 

Sleekit,  sleek,  sly 
Slogan,  cry,  war  cry 
Sma,'  small 
Smack,  kis-< 

Smeddum,  strong,  active 
Smoored,  smothered 
Snaw,  snow,  to  suow 
Snawy-drit't,  snow-drift 
Sneeshtn',  snuff 
Sonsy,  stout,  good  looking 
Sough,  the  sigiiing  of  the  wind 
Souse,  to  plunge,  dip 
Spak',  spake 
Speel'd,  clamh 
Speir,  ask 
Speired,  inquired 
Spence,  parlor 
aplarge, splutter 
Sprachlm',  scrambling 
Spurtle,  a  stick  with  wliicti  porridge 

is  stirred  when  boiling 
Stane, stone 
Staney,  stoney 
Stappit,  stepped 
Starn,  or  Sternie.  a  star 


Stock,  HllMl 

Stendod,  Ht.rldod  or  w;ilk<^d 

HtotH,  oxen 

Stonn,  pang 

Stonp.-i,  ni  viHures  for  holding  11i|uiilM 

Stour,  dust 

Stown,  stolen 

Rtraevagol,  to  go  Idloly 

Sun)ph,  fool 

Snnkots.  left  inoat^ 

Swarf,  fright 

Swarf,  swoon 

Swatter,  spliutor,  llounc' 

Swoirt,  not,  curing 

Syiio,  then 

Tai'ii,  tiiktfM 

Tiik',  to  take 

Takin',  taking 

'j'lik'tfiit.  take  heed 

Tano,  totlior,  Mio  one,  llio  oilier 

'fapsaUeerio,  upside,  down 

Tent,  (Mint ion,  to  take  lieod 

Thao,  these 

Thegillier,  together 

Tholo,  sulfor,  req'iire,  endure 

Thowiess,  (H)ld,  brokonliearted 

Thrapple,tho  throat 

Thraws,  turns 

Tine,  to  lose 

Tings,  tongs 

Tint,  lost 

Titlior,  tlio other 

Titterin',  giggling 

Tittle,  sister 

Tittlon,  to  wliisi)er 

Tochor,  marriage  portioit 

Toddlin,  totterliig 

Tooni,  empty 

Totting,  a  cfiild's  run 

Tousle,  disordered,  hair  uncombed 

Trig,  spruce,  neat 

Trow,  neliove,  know 

Tryst,  a  meeting  by  appointment 

Twa,  two 

Tyke,  dog 

Tyne,  lose 

Unco,  strange 
Uncouth,  uncomely 
Usqueba,  a  kind  ol  wiiisky 

Wa'j  wall 
Wad.  would 
Waddin',  wedding 
Wadna,  would  not 
Wac,  sorrowful 
Waefu',  walling,  woeful 
Waes,  woes 

Walr,  to  lay  out,  to  expend 
Wallop,  to  leap,  strike 
Walth,  plenty 
Wark,  work 
Warlock,  wizard 
Warst,  worst 
Warstle,  wrcstl*^ 
Wat-ve,  know  yo 
Waukin',  waking 
Wankrife,  3leepie«w 


192 


Ul.OSSARY. 


Wiiui'.  worMO    , 

Whaii,  child 

Weary,  or  WeArlo,  tlr«d 

WtHlo,  WHuded 

W<««.  llttKi 

Weol.  well 

Woelfnro,  wolfHre 

Weol  walod,  woll  chotten 

Wuca,  11  vow— 1  wuun,  I  wot 

Woet,  nUii,  wutnoHH,  dew 

Weir,  wjii' 

Wolrd,  dcHtluy 

We '80,  we  Bhair 

Willi,  who 

Whtt'll,  who  will 

WhH  wadim,  who  would  not 

Whuck,  to  fall,  to  Mlrilctt 

WhaiiK,  to  ciU 

Wharc,  whern 

Wliiff.  to  lly  oir 

Whilk.  whleh 

Whinjrin'.  to  whine 

Whisht,  silence 

Whiukut,  brushed  past 

WhudH,  runs  nimbly 

Whumnilin',  to  Uwn  over 

Whup,  with 

Wi'.  with 

Willows,  baskets 

Wimple,  me»ndei-in>!;   ul"  a  brook,  a 
«'iirl,  nndnlatlou 


Wlnna,  will  uol 

WinHome,  hearlv,  i;ay 

Wi/end,  wrinkled,  withered,  dried  u{» 

Woo',  wool 

Woo.  to  court,  to  make  love 

Wraith,  an  apparition  exactly  like  a 
living  perHoa,  the  appearance  of 
which  iH  said  to  forebode  titu  per- 
son's death 

Wranjj,  wroiiy;,  to  wroni; 

Wud,  mad,  distracted 

Wull  cat,  wild  cat 

Wylic,  cautious 

Wyto,  blame 


Yade,  pony 

Yalf,  chat,  bark  like  a  doe 

Yammer,  t  >  grumble 

Yatter,  senseless  talk 

Ye'll,  you  will 

Yerk,  to  strike 

Ye'se,  you  shall 

Yestreen,  last  ninht 

Yett,  gate 

Yo've,  ye  liavo 

Ylrd ,  earth 

Yoursel*.  yoursell' 

Youthfu',  youthful 

Ytile,  Chrlstma.* 


I 

lotl.wUheitMl,  dried  ui» 

to  IllttkU  loVM 

mrltlou  uxttotly  like  tt 

I.   the   ttppouruuco   of 

to  Toroiiodi'  tliu  por- 

to  wroiiji 

ructt'd 

;ut 


llk»'  A  dug 
uiiblc 
H  tttlk 


i«lit 


ill 
fill 


